


the grave they dug for you

by byzantiine



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Gore, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Resurrection, Slow Burn, Team as Family, he dies but hes fine, wild speculation on mollys origins and bloodhunter shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byzantiine/pseuds/byzantiine
Summary: resurrections are tricky under the best of circumstances.if one of your party is in possession of a body that used to belong to another, it can complicate things.  if the person who used to own that body was the leader of a heretical blood-magic cult, that can really complicate things.  and if your attempts at resurrection raise the wrong soul?that's a different story completely.





	1. in which things go wrong

     Of course, it had happened when Yasha was gone.

     Of course it had.  Maybe if they had just had a little extra muscle, a little bit of heaven’s light in their arsenal, they could have gotten out of the prairie without much of a problem.  

     It started like this- the creak of the wagon wheels masking the rattle of loose teeth, the wind through the grass masking the sound of groans, their own chatter and laughter down the line of their caravan masking the opening of jaws.  

  
     Nott, Frumpkin, and Caleb were snuggled down in the cart together, tucked into Caleb’s coat.  Nott snored quietly against Caleb’s chest, from whom the only signs of wakefulness were the rhythmic scrunching of Frumpkin’s ears and the flick of his eyes across his book. Jester walked by the side of the cart and talked Beau’s ear off, just having woken up from her own nap. Beau sat in the driver’s seat, the reins draped loosely around her wrist, laughing at the stories Jester spun from her mother’s establishment and the customers there. Fjord sat beside her, polishing a knife they had picked up off of some bandits, but cracking a smile every now and then at Jester’s ludicrous pantomiming. Their bloodhunter sat on the open back of the cart, one leg and his tail swinging idly over the side, shuffling his cards and glancing up from time to time to make a quip back at Jester and Beau.  The night was young, the moons were new. They were only going to travel an hour more.

 

     Until, suddenly, things went very wrong.

 

     “-SHIT!!” Molly screamed as something grabbed his ankle hanging over the edge. It sunk its freezing claws halfway through the tendons. With a sharp yank, he was pulled to the hard-packed path, away from his companions and away from his swords. The rest of the Nein were moving before his cards scattered across the field.  

     Caleb bolted upright, fire brewing in his hands and behind his teeth, and launched a fireball in the direction of the scream. As it sailed wide, he could count five, eight, twelve, fifteen- entirely too many shadowy entities, translucent and hovering like vultures over something freshly dead. Jester turned on her heel at the sound.

     “Molly!!” she cried, the attention of the outer shades drawn to her and, by proxy, the cart. A pack of them sailed forwards around the cart, right for her.  She stumbled back and grabbed for Beau, who yanked her goggles roughly up over her chin and onto her nose. _“Leave him alone, you big stinky fart guys!”_

     The Infernal crackled through the air and did nothing, fizzling like a dud firework.  Beau leapt off the cart and swept her staff in what would have been a devastating blow to something corporeal. It sunk through the shadow like molasses and when she drew back for another strike, strings of the stuff clung to the wood.

     From the back, a crossbow bolt sunk into the one Beau had swung at- and fell right out the other side. Nott spat a curse and scrambled off and under the cart. Fjord’s boots pounded right by her head, towards Molly’s shrieking, and then Caleb’s boots after Fjord.

     Breaking the circle of demons was near impossible until they figured out that the only thing that would drive them off was Jester’s lollipop-hammer and the holy energy around it.  Nobody came out of the fight unscathed. Fjord’s falchion arm was mauled, Caleb and Beau had both taken too much damage to stand without a potion, and Jester was running on empty, hanging onto Fjord’s good arm. Nott, to Caleb’s vocal relief, had taken very little damage, thanks to her size and darkvision.  She supported him as best as she could.

 

     Mollymauk had taken the worst of it.

 

     Jester dropped to her knees and fished her last healing potion out of her haversack to pour down Molly’s throat, seeming unconcerned with the pool of blood soaking into her skirt and trailing sleeves.  She did hold the wet sleeve back when she went to pinch Molly’s nose, however.

     “Come on, Molly, drink up,” she cooed, tilting his head back slightly.  Her face twisted when his throat didn’t work the stuff down. “Really, Molly, I know it’s yucky, but it’s worse not to drink it.”

     Nothing happened.

     Jester slid an arm under his neck to sit him up.  When she jostled him, his mouth fell open slightly to show sharp white teeth and the ounce or so of potion she had poured in initially.  When it spilled out, a line tracing down and over the peacock feathers on his cheek, her face went from pinched concern to slack, dawning horror.

     “Molly- Molly, come on, we can’t waste potion,” she said.  The pitch of her voice pricked Fjord’s ear. He lumbered over on his good leg.  

     Molly’s fantastic coat was hanging in shreds from his bony shoulders, the colours gone dull with shadow-murk and blood.  The lacerations across his body were distressing in that they were rough and cruel, a far cry from the precise, measured scars that everyone had come to love.  His tattoos stood in stark relief against his unusually ashen skin. The stillness was what made it real; no twitching tail, no waving hands, no rings glittering in the low light, no bangles or buttons clinking jovially together.  Molly brought the carnival everywhere he went, in his laugh and the glimmer in his eye. This was no carnival.

    Fjord had seen enough dead men in his time to see this for what it was.

     He laid a hand on Jester’s shoulder and she slapped it away. “Don’t touch me while I’m _working,_ ” she hissed.  When she turned back to Molly, her voice went back to the sugary croon she had used earlier. “It’s fine, it’s okay.”  Fjord stepped back to give her space, but turned towards the others with a carefully vacant expression.

     Beau pushed herself up on one arm, lying on her back in the cart as the healing potion slowly mended her broken ribs. Caleb was already limping over to Molly’s side. Nott held him up, an arm around his hips, as high as she could reach. Caleb sank to his knees, eyes darting over Molly’s prone form.  Something constricted in him, something tangled and ugly wound around his throat, and suddenly he was choking. Fjord watched him suffocate, a pained look in his eye.

     “What’s goin’ on?” Beau croaked from the cart. “Wha’ happened?” Jester was rocking Molly gently, talking to him like he would respond at any moment. Nott, at some point, started to gather the cards scattered across the path and rough grass around. She was crouched down in the dirt, examining something held daintily in her palm.  Fjord lurched into motion, pulled by an unfamiliar new buzz in his skull.

     He walked back to Beau. She searched his face with her one good eye for an ounce of humour.  She found none.

     “...No. No fuckin’ way.” She leaned around him to see Jester swaying, Caleb gone blank, the way Molly’s arm laid limp on the dirt. She pressed her hand hard against her mouth. _It could be the exhaustion making her shake_ , Fjord thought from somewhere far away within his head.

     “Listen. First thing, we gotta get out of the open. Don’t know how many of those fuckers could be lurkin’ round here.” He inspected the cart, the horse. “I’m drivin’. Gimme a minute. Don’t get up.”  It wasn’t a question. _Get on the cart. Get to an inn. Get everyone healed. Do something about Molly._

     Blessedly, Beau didn’t argue. She scooted farther back on the cart and on one knee, cleared a space for Molly, shedding her coat and laying it blue-side-up without hesitation. Jester had gone almost silent, curled over Molly’s body like a mother mourning her lifeless child. Fjord would have to deal with that soon, he thinks, wearily. Jester looked exhausted, but she positively bristled when he laid his hand on her shoulder again. This time, when she whipped around to face him, the colour had gone out of her face.

     “Let’s get him on the cart. We can’t stay here.” He said again, his voice sounding far away in his head, and again, not phrasing it as a question. She hissed and snapped at his fingers, her tail whipping at his bad leg. _“Jester.”_

     Nott came around Jester’s other side, Molly’s cards gathered neatly in one hand, something clutched to her chest in the other. She was a little taller than Jester at this level, and the goblin pressed their foreheads together silently, uncaring of the blood and sweat. When Nott stepped back, Jester rose, wobbling, with Molly cradled in her arms, and headed to the cart. Fjord absently patted Nott’s head in an automatic gesture of thanks and moved to help their cleric.

     “Caleb,” Nott called softly, stepping around the dark spot of blood, which was being sucked down into the thirsty earth.  She pried his fingers apart and pressed something small and warm into his hand. “Caleb, you can fix this. I know you can, we have to go. Fjord says that we’re going. Even Beau listened to him, so it’s serious.” Caleb might as well be dead too, for all the response he gave. His eyes were fixed on the shape of the blood spatter, the imprint of the wagon wheels and where Jester had knelt beside it, and the drag of Molly’s tail like a garden trowel towards the cart. Nott’s free hand came into his peripheral vision, but he didn’t react until her palm cupped his cheek, claws pricking behind his ear through his curtain of dirty hair.

 _“Caleb.”_ She intoned, trying to copy Fjord’s tone of voice. “We are getting on the cart, right now. You are going to sit in the cart, Fjord is going to drive us to the next building we see, and you are going to fix this.  There must be-” her voice broke here, “there must be _something_ in your clever books.”  His lips moved silently in response, and Nott sighed. “C’mon.”  

     He let her lead him towards the cart, wincing when Beau pulled him in next to her and propped him up against her shoulder. Jester sat with Molly’s head in her lap, her legs crossed neatly at the ankle, wiping at his cheek with a corner of her ruined dress. Caleb’s eyes glazed over again as he looked at Molly’s bare throat. Nott looked to Beau. A silent understanding passed between them, and Nott scrambled up to the front seat with Fjord. The only sound coming from their party was Caleb’s short, shallow breaths, the jingle of Molly’s horn piercings as Jester combed through his curls and untangled them from one another, the creak of the wheels and slow _clip-clop_ of the horse’s hooves on the dirt.

     It was as quiet as they had ever been. Fjord felt like he should hate it, but he was leaning into the list in his head, the repetition a small comfort from the dull roar taking up the majority of his brain.

_Cart accomplished. Inn, Healing, Molly. Molly. Molly._

 

* * *

 

     In a blur, Nott directed them to the town they had originally planned to stop at.  Well, it was less of a town and more of a shoddy collection of cottages clustered around an inn and a well.  When she wasn’t directing Fjord, she had her crossbow pointed into the darkness, behind them, over the bottomless plains. When they got there, she tucked her ears into her cloak and donned her mask, retying the laces behind her head.  She went to touch Caleb’s shoulder, to reassure him, but Beau waved her off.

     “I got him,” she murmured, “go do your thing, girl.”  And Nott thought, _maybe Molly really is dead_ , for Beau to guard Caleb like this.  She reached across, scritched Jester’s head, and hopped off the cart, where Fjord had finished unhitching their tired horse.

     Caleb was nearly lulled into a deeper trance by the rhythm of the cart and Beau’s warm arm pressed against his.  His fingers relaxed enough to let what was in his hand ( _How did that get there? When did I pick this up? Where did it come from?_ ) catch the scant light from the lantern on the barn ( _When did we reach town? How long have I been in this cart? Where is Nott?_ ) and glimmer softly at him.  He traced it with his thumb, the broken chain poking into a soft place between the fire scars and calluses, before it registered, like a painting underwater seen from above.

_The light in the Invulnerable Vagrant must be magical, Caleb thinks, as Molly adjusts the necklace this way and that in the mirror, pleased as the cat who got the cream. Caleb stands a few feet away, unwilling to break some unknown boundary that will ruin this, ruin them, before anything has the chance to begin. The necklace winks like an inside joke at the hollow of Molly’s collarbone in the pub, swinging as he leans forward to tell Jester a dirty story.  The necklace makes contact with his cheek when Molly presses a kiss to his forehead, the metal warm from where it rests against his pulse. The necklace shines in the starlight when Molly turns to fire back at Beau from the back of the cart as his clever hands shuffle his cards, and it’s the last glimpse Caleb had of Molly whole and right before he was dragged screaming out of Caleb’s reach and the one thing that could have protected him lay in Caleb’s palm on a broken chain, oh, gods have mercy, why couldn’t he have burned with his parents?_

     When he came to, his forehead was pressed into Beau’s thigh.  She was looking the other way, mercy of tiny mercies, her hand laying heavy on his back and drawing rhythmic, aimless circles.  Her other hand was in Jester’s, who was flexing and relaxing her bejewelled fingers nervously. Molly was laid still as the grave next to Caleb. It was an eerie mirror of the morning they set out. Molly had set up his bedroll right up against Caleb’s the night before, the heat radiating from his body warmer than that from the fire, both making Caleb squirm somewhere deep down. He kept expecting Molly to rouse, open his eyes, stretch in the sunshine and shoot him a pointed grin, but he did not.

     And he would not, ever again, unless Caleb could figure out some way to fix this.  

  
     He _had_ to fix this.

 

* * *

  
  
     The inkeeper was a kindly old dragonborn with meaty arms and dainty brass spectacles on the end of his snout.  He handed Fjord the key to their room (one of the two suites available) and for a few extra silver, passed over some winter quilts into Nott’s waiting claws. Maybe it was kindness, or maybe it was his fleeting sight, because he complimented Fjord’s “daughter” on how strong she was. Fjord didn’t react beyond a respectful nod, clomping mechanically up the creaking stairs. He unlocked the room and gave Nott the key, then back down the stairs again and out the front door.  

     The cart was where he had left it. Beau lifted her head in greeting, the swelling on her eye still partly obscuring her vision, but seemed to be going down some.  

     “We gonna be able to bring him in like this?” She murmured, tipping her chin towards their fallen companion. Jester was still going through his hair with her claws, more as a nervous tic at this point than detangling.  Fjord’s heart lurched in his throat. _Not yet, don’t freak out yet._ It took him a minute to realize that Caleb seemed to be conscious, his pale eyes trained carefully on the side of the cart.

     “...How about you and Caleb go upstairs first? Nott’s up getting the room all set.”  He replied, aware of how he wasn’t answering her question. Truth was, he didn’t know, but unknowing didn’t look good on someone who had stepped up as de facto leader when people started to shut down. Beau tucked her hair behind her ears, as it had mostly fallen out of her topknot at this point. She slid her hand out of Jester’s and sat Caleb up. He moved like a ragdoll.

     “Up and at ‘em.” Beau’s brand of care was rough around the edges, like the rest of her. But she did hold her arm out for Caleb to steady himself on, even though she was still relying on her staff to keep her upright. They disappeared into the front door and Fjord was left with Jester, her face looking nearly as pallid as Molly’s. Fjord didn’t reach out to touch her this time.

     “Jester.”

     “...mm.”

    “We got a room.”

     “...mmhm.”

     “It’s chilly out tonight, you’re gonna get sick if you stay out here.”

     “...’m a cleric, I can’t get sick.”

     “That’s some bullshit.”

     Jester looked up at him, finally. Her eyes were drooping, her round cheeks seemed sunken.  Blood flecked her face. Molly’s inkspill-dark hair was still wound through her knuckles. She looked about ready to keel over, in Fjord’s opinion.  

     Their eyes met for a long, long moment, before Beau reappeared from the doorway, her step still slow and lurching. She leaned on the edge of the cart.  

     “Hey, we only got one room. We’re gonna have to make a blanket nest.”

     Jester didn’t respond.

     “You’re the best there is at blanket nests. I think we gotta call in the professional.” Jester’s mouth twisted up a little at the corner.

     “I am _really_ good at making blanket nests.”

     “Hell yeah, you are.  You wanna help us with that?” Jester looked down at Molly in her lap, the smile melting as if it were never there in the first place. It made Beau’s gut twist. “Fjord can get him upstairs. He’ll be okay for the five minutes it takes to come upstairs, promise.” She gave Jester a tired, private grin. “And if he’s not, we can beat him up. Whaddya think? We could take him.”

     Jester seemed to teeter on the decision for a moment, then let Molly’s hair fall from her hand. Ever so gently, she cupped his head so she could place it back on the makeshift blanket of Beau’s coat.  She winced when his head tilted only to be stopped by his horn, and paused to bunch the cloth up to support his neck.

     Once she was halfway satisfied, she stepped off the cart, making sure to pat the horse still tied up to the cart on her way by. (Jester’s definition of a ‘pat’ was more hugging the horse around its greying neck and burying her face under its mane. No one would begrudge her for it.)

     That left Fjord alone with Molly’s body in the cart. Panic swelled in him, and for a moment he considered letting it in, letting it shut him down, letting himself scream his fool head off.  

     Instead, he braced his head against the wheel of the wagon and retched into the dirt, a splatter of bile and salt hitting the toes of his boots.  He righted himself after a minute, wiped his mouth, and scooped Molly up as carefully as he could, resting his head on his shoulder. He let himself shudder- Molly’s cheek was cold.  The sense of wrongness that had speared him over the last hour twisted like a sword in his gut, driving itself home with every passing minute.

     He draped Beau’s coat over Molly’s form in his arms and ignored the unusual stiffness of the brocade coat, thick with Molly’s dried and drying blood, and kept his fingers crossed that the innkeeper really was as going blind. He went over his list again, repeating it like a prayer. _Cart and Inn are handled. Healing, and then Molly._ There was no way Jester would be able to do anything more tonight, in her state, so healing would have to come with a long rest and refreshed spells in the morning.

     Gods above and below, they were going to have to _sleep_ after all this.

     Fjord very pointedly pushed that thought out of his mind, as he was becoming so skilled at doing, and headed indoors.

 

* * *

 

    Inside, Jester was bustling around the room, rearranging quilts and cloaks in a pile on the floor.  She was moving around, at least- Nott had deposited Caleb onto the other bed in the room and set to helping Jester.  Beau sat near Caleb, to stay out of the way if nothing else.

     When Fjord opened the door, the room fell silent and still.  He stepped gingerly over the nest. Every eye was trained on him as he set Molly on the bed, pulling his ragged shirt together to cover the worst of the wounds. His hands lingered over Molly’s heart- halfway hoping- and brushed a stray curl of raven hair into place.  The coat he loved so much was absolutely destroyed. Parts of it hung on by threads, careful embroidery was ripped away, strings of pearls and swaths of silk ruined with gore and earth. The silence hung over them like an axe.

     In the end, it was Beau who broke that silence.

     “...What do we do now?” She rasped, raking a hand through her hair.  Nott looked helplessly from her to Jester, worrying her skirt so hard it could rip at any second, to Fjord, his hands shaking, to Caleb, who looked dangerously close to falling into that dark place that grabbed hold of him on bad days.  She got to her feet and took up Caleb’s hand, peering at him intently.

     “Caleb has lots of powerful magic and he never forgets anything he reads.  If he’s ever read anything about bringing someone back from the- um. Bringing someone back, he would remember.”  Caleb met her eyes. He worked his jaw, the furrow between his brows deepening. His eyes flickered over Nott’s knuckles the way they did when he was reading.  “If anyone can do it, Caleb, it’s you.”

     Caleb nodded, slow at first.

     “Let me... let me think.”  His hands moved to unbuckle his spellbooks, fumbling the clasps that held them securely to his sides.  It took him entirely too long. Fjord cleared his throat.

_Cart. Inn. Heal. Molly._

     “We ought to get some rest and heal up, before we do anything else.  We’re all runnin’ on empty and we’ll be able to think better in the morning.” His voice sounded metallic to his own ears, like rainwater hitting a the bottom of a bucket.  Beau kicked off her sandals and dragged herself over to the pile. Caleb drew the spool of silver thread from one of his many pockets, grimoire tucked under his arm as he started to loop the thread on the far windowsill of the room.  

     “Wait, hold on,” Jester said, laying a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, “Did Frumpkin come in from the cart?”  Before Caleb could respond, she darted over to the creaky door, sticking her face out. “Here, kitty kitty, here!  Time for bed!” Caleb’s shoulders drew up bowstring-taut.

     “Frumpkin is not here.”

     “I know, that’s why I am-”

     “He is gone! Poofed! No more until I am able to summon him again!” The lone lantern hanging in the centre of the room flared brightly for a moment before settling back to a soft glow.  He snapped the string between his teeth and tied it off, looping it around the perimeter of the room. “Move, I need to thread the door.”

     Jester jumped back as if she had been burnt.  Caleb did not look at her, and kept going. Once he got back to where he started, he tied the thread off again, finished the incantation, and sat down on the very edge of the pile without even removing his boots.  He spread out the scant materials he had left for spell transcription- and of course, he remembered too late that he had been meaning to get more after they left this town in the morning- spit a curse and rifled through his scant belongings once more, just to make sure that he hadn’t missed anything- he hadn’t. He opened his spellbook and ink and started to scratch out possible solutions.

     He flinched when he heard Jester’s quiet sniffle a few moments later. Nott stepped past him, her talons clicking across the wooden boards.  

    “It’s alright, Jester,” she soothed, patting the cleric’s knee,  “we can always get Frumpkin back. Don’t worry.” Another wet sniffle.  “Caleb can sort it out in the morning.”

    Nott curled up against Caleb’s back, her forehead pressed between Beau’s shoulders.  Beau patted the quilt beside her. Jester all but collapsed into the line of Beau’s body.  Beau let her cozy up, winding an arm around her waist and letting Jester’s tail wrap around her ankle.  Fjord blew out the lantern, the sweet smoke curling up into the rafters, before he laid down next to Jester.

    For once, Jester’s voice was strained and quiet.  “I wish Frumpkin were here,” she mumbled, pressing her back against Fjord’s chest. He rested his forehead against her skull.  “I wish Yasha would come back. I hate this.”

     “You know her.  She’ll be back in her own time.” Gods, _Yasha_ _._ Fjord didn’t even want to consider the missing member of the team.  She had known Molly as long as he had been...well, Molly. He knew there was no way they would be able to keep this from her, even if they did manage to fix it before she got back. Not that he wanted to, not _really_ , but...He took a deep breath, Jester’s cloud of hair ruffling on the exhale.  She smelled like stale rosewater and sweat, tangible, right. _Alive,_ supplied a less than helpful voice in his mind.  He crushed it down as soon as it registered. That was not part of the plan. He’d learned by now- thinking past the plan sends even level-headed men into a panic, and a panic was not something he could afford to be in.

     He made it an admirably long time before it hitched in his chest. The buzz in the back of his skull became deafening in the silence of the room, the silence of Molly’s body ( _the corpse, the corpse on the bed, it won’t keep forever, keep moving_ ), but he couldn’t move, there was nothing to do but wait until morning, at least eight more hours in the tavern-turned-morgue, with no way to tell the time with the clouds rolling in and smothering out the starlight. The buzz seeped into him, marrow-deep, until his jaw shook with it, until he couldn’t _breathe_ around it.

     He was startled by a warm, rough hand on his arm.  Beau met his eye over Jester’s shoulder, purple and black and nearly swollen shut.  She slid her hand down his forearm and laced their fingers together, slow enough for him to pull away.  He held on like a lifeline. She let him press her knuckles against his forehead and squeezed gently, rhythmically; squeeze-one-two-three, release-one-two-three, for a minute or an hour.  He wasn’t sure, but he did find himself matching his breathing to it. She smoothed out the furrow in his brow with her thumb once his breathing evened out.

     He leaned into her hand once more- _i'm sorry_ _,_ without words- and she smoothed his hair from his brow- _don’t be,_ without words- and let her take her hand back.  Jester’s side rose and fell evenly, Caleb was silhouetted in a muted version of his dancing light spell, and Nott’s ear twitched in her uneasy sleep.  He was, not for the first time tonight, very thankful for Beau.

     At least one of them had their head on right.

 

 

     The hours slurred drunkenly into one another, the scratch of Caleb’s quill marking the seconds oozing by.  He hardly noticed when dawn arrived. The sun was too weak to pierce the clouds, leaving the world draped in weak grey light.  When he finally sat back from his notes, his whole body cried out in protest.

     He glanced at his work, trying to stretch out the knot between his shoulders.  The lamp lay cold on the floor and his fingers were smeared with soot and ink, fingerprints littering his notes.  Another thing to add to the list- parchment, ink, and… the component for the actual spell. _Gott verdammt._ How would they acquire a gem valuable enough to bring Molly back?  The Mighty Nein had been low on gold when they left the city- _this wasn’t supposed to happen_ \- he thought he would have been able to pawn some things off once they got where they were going.  Now, it seemed, they had reached an impasse. One that he had to get them over.

     He remained lost in the whorl of his thoughts in this way until someone batted his hand away from his mouth. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

     “You were chewing on your finger again,” Nott creaked, loud after hours in a near-silent room, “you’ll make it bleed.”  He lowered his hand automatically, gesturing at the mess of notes. She scooped some up and scanned his exhausted scrawl, tapering from deep black ink to vaguely grey and then brown that smudged when she accidentally touched it, getting smaller and smaller, wedged into the corner of the page.

     “A resurrection spell?” Nott asked, still taking in his notes.

     “ _Ja._ It’s, ah, fairly difficult stuff, but I read about it a few months back, you remember that library?” He yawned, scrubbing a palm over his cheek. “I ran out of ink two hours ago, and parchment ran out ten minutes before you woke.”

     “What have you been using for ink, then?”

     “Soot and spit, and then dirt and spit. I am nearly out of dirt.”

     “Strange for us, huh?”  She looked back at him and the streaks of filth across his face, his drooping eyes, the unhappy line of his mouth under his beard. Her heart twinged when his expression shifted to that of an animal backed into a corner.

     “If I am to transcribe this spell properly, I will need proper parchment and ink, firstly.  Secondly, the spell calls for a diamond. We...we do not have that, we do not have access to that here.” He glanced towards the window, then to the bed where Fjord had lain Molly down, then very quickly away, back into his lap.  “I do not know how we would get that.”

     Nott clapped her free hand on his shoulder.  Her lamplight eyes bored into the very core of him. Once it would have unnerved him to feel so seen.

     “I’ll handle that.  You did so good, Caleb, this is...this is a start.”  She let her hand fall and buried her nose into the crook of Caleb’s neck.  He leaned his cheek into her, patting her narrow back.

     “Thank you, my friend.”

     “Always.”

 

* * *

 

     One by one, the party rose.  Caleb briefed them all on what the spell would require and his logic leading up to using it.  Jester had puttered around Caleb’s notes until she and Caleb were on the edge of a screaming match, at which point Fjord took her downstairs for breakfast. Once Fjord and Jester left, Nott and Beau spoke quietly while Caleb reorganized his notes and ripped off a scrap that listed the things he needed.  Nott tucked the scrap into one of her many pockets

     “We’ll be back by dark.” Beau assured him, retying her hair while Nott gave him a goodbye hug.  He started to ask what to do if they weren’t, and stopped himself. He couldn’t afford to think about that.  Nott promised she would handle it, and she would. He watched them out the small window of the room as they went down to the barn and haggled the stablehand, saw Beau untie her necklace and hand it to the halfling.  He brought them out a fine chestnut horse, saddled and bridled, a few minutes later. Beau put Nott up on its back and swung up behind her, and they were off into the mist.

     Caleb let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. Nott would handle it. Nott would handle it. She had Beau with her and Beau loved her and would keep her safe and Nott would bring him what he needed and Jester could fix it and they could be past this horrible business as soon as moonrise.  

     Molly lay still and ashen on the bed.

     Caleb let himself slouch against the wall and rest his aching eyes for a moment.

     He fell deeply asleep and did not dream.


	2. in which there is calm before the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey!! i got this chapter done quicker than i expected so here it is!

     Caleb woke with a start. The room was pitch black, his back was sore, someone was crouched over him--

     “Caleb, hush, it’s just me!” Nott squeaked, falling back half a step. The pounding of his heart quieted at the sound of her voice, and he sighed, letting his hand fall from a spellcasting position to pat her shoulder.

     “Are you alright?” he said, checking her over for injuries. Her hair was a briar patch of tangles hanging in her face, and her entire body up to the shoulder was spattered with mud and coated with dust, but she looked no worse for wear, from what he could tell. After a moment, she batted his hands away.

      She drew something wrapped in a ragged handkerchief out of one of her many pockets and placed it firmly in Caleb’s hand. It was heavy and warm from being tucked close to her for so long, but…

     Lifting the corner of the rag confirmed what he hardly dared to hope. He crushed Nott to him, nearly knocking her off her feet.

     “I- _Das ist_ \- You- Nott, _du bist ein heller kopf_ _!”_ He kissed her hard on both cheeks and leaned back to examine the gem, bent over it in his lap. It was cut and polished to a mirror shine, and he almost felt guilty for touching it with such filthy hands. The weight of it in his palm was what drove the hope home, a bright shard piercing the core of him. “How you have managed this-- I did not know how you, how you would, _meine Götter_ , this is beautiful, how in the _world_ have you done this, this- I knew you would do it, I knew so!”

     Nott grinned from ear to ear, exhaustion evident in every line of her body. She patted Caleb’s head in lieu of an answer.

     The door opened just then, revealing an equally bedraggled and sweaty Beauregard, goggles pushed up onto her head. Dust and mud splattered her from hip to heel, and her hair was almost completely free from her topknot again. Caleb guessed she must have fallen at some point, because tiny wild violets stuck out of her hair here and there. Once she toed out of her riding boots, she shrugged her satchel off her back and held it out for Caleb.

     “Got your shit,” she supplied when Caleb looked at her curiously. He unbuckled it and looked inside. Sure enough, the bag contained five bottles of arcanist’s ink wrapped with butcher paper, and a thick sheaf of cream-coloured spell-grade parchment, much more than he needed. He looked back up at her, bewildered.

     “Beauregard, this is-- this is too much, how much did you spend on this?” It had to have been at least two hundred gold, or more, depending on which shop they had gone to. Beau shrugged in the way that she did when she was trying to seem nonchalant.  

     “Don’t worry about it. Just get that thing copied and let’s get this over with, yeah?” She wiped at her nose, leaving a smear of dirt on her top lip, and pointedly did not look at the bed. Caleb nodded, hurriedly unwrapping the topmost inkwell. The first whiff of the ink was close to intoxicating, laden with possibility. He said nothing, but racked up the cost in his head- the contents of the satchel were worth well over five hundred gold.

     “I-yes, give me...give me an hour and a half.” He looked up and met her eyes. Beau was taken aback; Caleb generally wasn’t about eye contact, and that was fine, but the expression on his face made something in her chest pull taut. “ _Thank_ you, Beauregard.”

     She broke her gaze first and picked at her bracelet, almost bashful.  

     “Whatever. Just-- just copy the spell, Jester’s about to have a breakdown.” She slipped into her sandals and rolled her shoulders, face pinching as she worked the muscles out of riding position. “Nott, wanna come get a drink?”

     “Yes, _please._ ” Nott squeezed Caleb’s side once more and extricated herself from his arms to scramble downstairs. Caleb felt Beau’s eyes on him again, cool and grey.

     “I’ll...come check in later. Hour and a half.”

     Caleb did not respond, already setting out his notes in order to transfer the final spell onto the new paper. He heard Beau pad softly away and the door creaked shut.

 

* * *

 

 

     Jester was, in fact, about to have a breakdown.

     She had paced the tavern portion of the inn for an hour, tail swishing angrily while she gnawed on a stale croissant. After that, she had tried rearranging the glasses on the bar into a teetering pyramid while the elderly dragonborn looked the other way. She did so with ease, and Fjord hoped it would have cheered her up at least a little, but she slunk back to her seat when she was finished with bowed shoulders and laid her head on her crossed arms.  

     Time passed. Fjord suggested a walk through town, but there was only so much town to walk through and only so much time they could spend at the well before the (mostly human) populace started to give them suspicious looks. He ushered Jester away and back to the inn, where she poked listlessly at a plate of honeyed rolls.

     The rest of the afternoon spilled into evening. The odd customer came into the bar, but for the most part it was still and quiet. Jester curled up by the hearth with her sketchbook and eventually drifted into a fitful half-sleep, her brow lined even in unconsciousness. Fjord drifted as well, the gentle patter of rain on the windows and flickering flame lulled him to sleep.

     His dreams were...confusing, to say the least. His patron did not make an appearance, but all the same he dreamt of squalls, the water turning to blood, then back to water again, the enormous moons crashing into each other and falling into the sea. When someone shook him awake, his mouth tasted of copper and salt.

      Beau stood over him, dusty and tired, with a wry grin.  

     “Have a good nap?”  

     Fjord stretched and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.

     “It was...not one of my top ten.” He looked her over and saw Nott dart down the stairs and up to the bar, her grey robes also mud-splattered. “Where’d you two go?” Beau shrugged.

     “Had to run an errand. How’s she doin’?” Beau asked, thrusting her chin towards Jester, whose face was pillowed on her arm, open sketchbook still on her lap. Fjord mimicked Beau’s shrug.

     “She’s doin’ her best. Been flittin’ around all day and barely did anything tricky.” Fjord rubbed the back of his neck. Jester’s mood had weighed on him more than he thought, he realized, once he was saying it out loud. “She’s...hm. She’s been puttin’ on a brave face, but the sooner this is over, the better.”  Their voices were low so as not to wake her, the patter of rain having stopped sometime during Fjord’s rest. Beau hip-checked him fondly.

     “And you haven’t been?”  
     “Haven’t been what?”  
     “Putting on a brave face for everybody.”

     Fjord rubbed at the marks left on his cheek from laying on the wooden table.  He didn’t feel any more rested than when he got up that morning, and it showed in the shadows under his eyes, like smudges of charcoal. “I’m not sayin’ I haven’t been. Just an observation about Jes.”  

     Nott hopped down from her barstool perch, and after a look from Fjord, tossed up a few copper on the bar to pay for it.  She made her way over to the table, sipping from her overly full flask as she went. Fjord passed a hand over his face and pricked his claws into his cheek, anything to shake off the dregs of his dream. Nott perched again, this time on the empty chair across from Fjord and Beau, and tapped her claws against her flask. Beau broke the heavy silence.

     “Caleb thinks he found a way to, uh...bring Molly back,” she said, glancing around at the bar out of habit, even though it was empty. Fjord tensed, looking up at her. There was a pause.

     “Was that what your errand was for?” Beau nodded, dropping heavily into another free chair and tucking her feet up under her. She grabbed the half-empty mug Fjord had been nursing before he fell asleep and drained it.  

     “I don’t know a whole lot about magic and stuff, but it looked pretty legit.” Nott, who had finished a long sip of mead and was screwing the top back onto her flask and unscrewing it again anxiously, chose then to pipe up.

     “It’s a Resurrection spell.  He read about them a couple of months ago. Beau is right, it did look like it could work.” She fiddled with the flask’s cap, flipping it over her knuckles. “I mean...I’ve never seen one of these things done before. In my experience, when someone is...gone, like that, you leave them be.” Beau and Fjord looked harder at her. Fjord’s hand curled around the edge of the table, but he stayed still and kept his poker face. “I-I’m not saying we shouldn’t bring him back!” Nott backtracked, shaking her head so hard that her earrings clinked together, “I’m just...it’s strange, to me, the whole business. It seems risky.” She took another long sip, watched Fjord’s hand relax. “But if Caleb thinks this is the way, then I’ll stand by him.”

     Beau nodded, her hand going to fiddle with her jade pendant, then dropping when she realised it wasn’t there and fidgeted with the edge of her shirt instead.  

     “What happened to your necklace?” Fjord asked, raising an eyebrow.

     “Lost it. It’s no big deal.” She blew the lock of hair that wouldn’t stay in her bun out of her eyes, and tipped back a little on her chair. “Caleb said an hour and a half to copy the spell. Is she gonna be okay to cast by then? I think it’s a cleric thing.” Again, she glanced over to Jester. Her tail twitched fitfully in her sleep.  

     “I guess so. There’s not much else we could do to help her.” Fjord glanced to the stairs again, which seemed to disappear into a pool of shadow outside the spill of lantern light. “So we wait?”

     “...yeah. We wait.”

     They seemed to be doing a lot of that, lately.

     It was a short eternity later when Beauregard got up from her seat to go check on Caleb. Before she could even reach the stairs, they heard him stomping down them, seemingly not noticing the noise.  The faint manic gleam in his eye from the morning was gone, a dull exhaustion settling mantle-like over his thin shoulders. He and Beau said nothing to each other, just shared an emphatic nod before he went back upstairs. Nott scrambled up the stairs after him on all fours, and Fjord woke Jester, shaking her gently by the shoulder. She roused, slowly, rubbing the grit from her eyes.

     “Caleb finished the spell he was working on.  You good to go?” He asked, his voice low and warm. If she noticed the tremor in it, she said nothing, and touched the sign of the Traveller hanging from her chatelaine. There was an unfamiliar new steel in her eyes and a set to her shoulders that seemed more fitting of a veteran soldier. Jester got to her feet and tied her hair back in one deft motion.

     “Yes. Let’s get Molly back.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

* * *

                                                                                                                                                                                    

     The room upstairs was cold.

     Once everyone was gathered and the preparations were performed, Jester laid out the grid of sigils in chalk, carefully reproducing the ones Caleb had drawn in his notes. One circle for the head, a pentagram surrounded by curls and complicated symbols, to invite the spirit and spark of life back into the body. One circle for the heart, a sunburst of interlocking lines, to draw that energy into the core of the body and spread it, encouraging blood-flow and breath. One circle for the hands and feet, a sigil for each major artery, to make certain no part of Molly was left lifeless. And in the centre of each circle, a tiny Traveller’s door as the anchor point. The Traveller was not traditionally a god of healing, but he loved Jester very much, and she was sure he liked Molly, so she was sure he would be able to help. She hummed anxiously as she drew, channelling the warmth the Traveller gave her, the excitement of a prank gone exactly her way, the joy that Molly’s crowing laugh instilled in her.   

     “Okay, Traveller,” she murmured, sitting so that she was touching each of the four circles at the same time, “this is a big one. This is a _really_ big one. I am doing- I am doing something I have never done before, and it- it means, it-” She took a long breath to steady herself, willing her eyes to stop prickling so hotly, “It is a _really_ important one. And I understand if you- if you can’t do something like this, but, please _, please,_ help him. He is a really good person and he _deserves_ to live. Please help Molly.” Jester swallowed around the knot in her throat. She laced her fingers together around the silver charm that He gave to her the day she pledged to follow him, pressed her knuckles hard against her forehead, leaned over so far forward that she was almost touching her knees. “I will do- I will do twice the pranks- no, _three_ times the pranks if you bring him back, I will be the _best_ follower, I promise! I-”

     Jester felt the hair on the back of her neck twitch, like someone was hovering behind her. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, as she felt someone lay a hand on her freckled shoulder. It felt closer to sunlight than physical touch.

 _“Child, you need not promise so much. You are already my best follower.”_ She felt something warm brush her cheek, light as a kiss. _“I will do what I can.”_ The chalk circles flashed softly as the presence disappeared, then solidified into lines of blue-violet light floating a hand’s breadth above the initial drawings, throwing strange shadows across Jester’s body along with the low coppery light from the lantern above her head. There was a soft hum of electricity in the air akin to an oncoming thunderstorm.  The shift in the atmosphere set her arm hairs on end. She could feel it. The ritual was ready to begin.

     Jester became aware of her friends’ eyes on her, scrubbing her palms over her wet face. She smiled at them in a wobbling, crooked way. Beau held out her hand and Jester let her pull her to her feet, and looked at the others seated on the edge of the unoccupied bed.

     “He says he’ll help.”

     With that, Beau and Jester lifted Molly’s cold form from his bed, careful to make sure his head was supported.  They laid him out according to the circles- Jester placed his hands on his belly, over the circle meant for them, and let his hair fan over his shoulders, soft and shiny. Lastly, she took the copper coins off of Molly’s eyes from the preservation ritual- they were still closed beneath them, delicate violet lids with thick, soot-black lashes.  The glowing arcane circle around his head made him look like some dramatic rendition of a celestial soldier of the Divergence, like the paintings she had seen in her lessons growing up. Beau repositioned his boots so that both feet were inside the circles, then knelt by his knee, her hands limp on her thighs. Jester waved Caleb, Nott, and Fjord over to the middle of the room, settling herself by Molly’s head. Fjord sat next to Beau, Nott and Caleb facing them.  Nott slipped her hand into Caleb’s, let him squeeze gently in acknowledgement. Jester looked around at all of them once more, still smiling, and laid her hands on Molly’s shoulders.

     The incantation was unfamiliar in Jester’s mouth, falling clumsily from her lips at first.  She had practised it with Caleb before the ritual, but her nerves were getting to her. She cleared her throat several times- Fjord laid his hand over hers on Molly’s shoulder, and she seemed to relax at the touch.  She found her rhythm, and the casting circles began to rotate in place. When she opened her eyes, the irises were glowing the same colour as the light around them, the horizontal pupils endless voids unto themselves.  At some point, the lantern overhead had gone out.

     “May I have the diamond?” She asked, her voice low and lilting, laced with power. Caleb fumbled at his pocket.  His hands were unsteady and still black with soot and dirt. Nott closed her hand over the diamond, gently, and handed it to Jester without a moment’s hesitation. Jester cupped it in both hands and hissed a word of power. A pulse of light spread from below the left side of her bodice, through her veins, into her fingertips and into the stone, throwing prismatic lights around the darkened room. The curtains stirred with an unnatural wind, as did Jester’s hair, the ribbon holding it back coming untied. The circles seemed to spin faster, and when Jester released the diamond, it stood on its tip, spinning in time with the circles, the arcane hum threading through her voice as if it were a tangible thing.  

     Molly lifted, suddenly, away from the rough wood floor, his head tilting back the barest inch. The others, save Jester, flinched back. The wall danced with their shadows, indistinct and only vaguely humanoid, spinning lazily around and around. The soft, echoing laughter of many voices touched the edge of their hearing. Beau looked around for a source, but she could find none. Jester spoke again, her hands still on Molly’s shoulders.

     “What would you like to contribute to the ritual?” She asked, sounding like three people at once, none of them her usual jovial self. Beau’s head whipped back around to Jester, genuine discomfort plain across her square features.

      “Are you okay?” she whispered, the light on her face throwing it into sharp relief. Her hands flexed and relaxed on her thighs. She looked around and caught Caleb’s eye. “Is she okay?!”  
     

      He nodded reassuringly. Truthfully, it was frightening to him, too- but the ritual had to be completed, once it was started. Jester’s god would keep her safe. Beau didn’t relax, but she did take a fortifying breath, and reached up to her hair. She undid her topknot, her hair falling in a rich brown sheet over her shoulders. She threaded it through the buttonhole of Molly’s jacket, tying it clumsily into a bow.  When she was finished, she tucked her hair behind her ears, her face creased with worry, and patted the bow. “A gaudy fucker like you should- should be as colourful as possible. Uh...you look...wrong, without your coat. So, I expect my hairtie back, as soon as you wash that awful thing.” She coughed gruffly, withdrew her hand, and wiped her eye. She looked different with her hair down, in Nott’s opinion, younger, somehow. More scared.

     Nott stood, Molly’s body levitating at about waist height relative to her. She drew the stack of cards she had gathered up from one of her many pockets, placing them under his folded hands. She stepped back for a moment, reaching into another pocket, and laid three buttons in a small, shining pile above his hands. She said nothing, the light reflecting strangely in her eyes, and sat back down next to Caleb with an intense expression.  

     Fjord moved next- he gathered the bundle from under the bed, and placed it at Molly’s side.  It was his coat, wrapped up around his swords the way Fjord had watched Molly do a thousand times, the hilts peeking out into the open. Once the parcel was placed, Fjord cleared his throat.

     “Molly, a long time ago you told us these swords were nothin’ special. I’ve seen you use them to- to protect us, to wield whatever brand of magic it is that you have. _You_ are what makes them special.  I-I doubt anyone else could do what you do with them.” He blinked hard, swallowed, blinked again. “None of us can use them. It’d be a damn shame to- to never see your skill again.” Beau leaned her shoulder against him as he settled back into his original seat.  

      Jester’s eyes flashed as Fjord finished the final offering, and her hands tightened on Molly’s shoulders, claws digging into the fabric. The diamond hovering over his heart spun faster, its movement becoming wild and unpredictable as the magic ate away at it. The rainbow shards it threw on the wall shifted and changed as it became less of a finely-cut gem and more of a hunk of stone. The arcane hum in the air raised to a fever pitch, the light flared once more as the diamond was consumed, the chalk circles lifted from the floor and dissipated, the shadows on the wall reeled and the sourceless laughter became a cackle, the sound of breaking glass filled the air--

 

     And then it was over.

     The body drifted gently to the floor, guided by Jester’s hands. The light faded from her eyes as Molly touched the rough wood, and she drew heaving breaths in the silence.  

     One moment passed.

     Two moments.

     Three-

     And then, Molly’s mouth opened, coughing and spluttering horribly, gasping for air, and the tension in the room broke. The wounds on his chest knitted themselves back together into shiny new scars before their eyes, blending in with the rest. Jester sobbed with relief, all the tension leaving her as she slumped forward and let her forehead rest on his chest, feeling his breathing start again, feeling his heartbeat. His eyes didn’t open, but it was okay, he must be exhausted, poor thing, and the rest of the group seemed to sag as well.  Beau laughed, a little hysterical, but contagious all the same. Nott threw her arms around Caleb and held him tight, Fjord thumped Jester heartily on the back. She sat up, wiping tears from her cheeks.

     “Okay, okay, back up, you guys, give him some space, he must be really worn out.” She hiccuped, putting her hand on Fjord’s shoulder to get up, but her knees gave out from under her, falling into Fjord’s lap, and she started laughing again through the tears and snot. “I am- I am also really worn out, apparently!”

     Caleb’s eyes were fixed on the shallow, steady motion of Molly’s scarred chest, the slight part of his lips, the twitch of his fingers on the tarot deck Nott had put in his hands.  It felt like a weight had been lifted from him- it worked, the ritual had _worked._ The rush of blood in his ears ebbed, and he became aware of his friend’s arms around him, and he hugged her back, lifting her into his lap to rock her and press kiss after kiss to the top of her head.  

     After a few minutes on the floor, making sure that everyone was alright, the rest of the team rose again. Beau lifted Molly gently back onto the bed, and he curled up slightly when she set him down, his tail draping itself across his knees. She took the cards from his hands and the button pile off his chest, sliding them under the bed with the sword bundle.  

     Jester looked like the only thing keeping her vertical was Fjord’s arm on her waist, swaying slightly on her heels. She sat down heavily at the foot of Molly’s bed, her breathing slightly raspy in her throat. She still looked far too pale and a fine sheen of sweat rested on her brow.  

     “We- We should- let him rest. We- should rest,” she panted. She wiped her brow once more and flopped backwards on the bed, arms akimbo, and was asleep as soon as her head touched the quilt. After a moment, she snored loudly, sending Beau and Fjord into a fit of giggles.  

     “I second that,” Fjord said, gesturing to the blanket pile that had been shoved out of the way to make room for the ritual. He sat in the pile and sighed heavily. Beau let him drape his arm over her shoulders and rested her head on his chest, and Caleb on his other side, still holding Nott. She squirmed down, wrapping his heavy coat around her, and tucked her nose into his scarf. Caleb stroked a hand over her back and tried to get his thoughts in order.

     Tomorrow, he would summon Frumpkin again. He had enough incense for one more ritual, and with Molly back, he would feel more stable with his cat. As he closed his eyes, the light from the resurrection danced ghost-like in his vision.  It had gone almost exactly according to the spell he wrote out. A pang of guilt registered in him; he had known that only three could assist, and he had nothing to contribute in that respect, but...he thought of the heart-shaped necklace in his pocket and winced. The ribbon, the cards, and the swords had been enough. That’s what mattered. So why was he indulging in such frivolous thought?

     Losing Molly, even for a day, had shaken him more than he expected. He didn’t want to examine the lurch in his chest too closely. It was too late in the night for that.

     He let Nott’s weight and warmth on his chest and Fjord’s breathing at his side lull him to sleep.  Outside, the rain started again, tapping its freezing fingers on the windowpane.

 

* * *

 

     Hours later, lightning struck the earth and following it was a roll of thunder like a dragon’s roar.  Rain lashed the windows, practically flying sideways, and the glass rumbled in the sill with the force of the noise and wind. In the darkness, something shifted. A hand uncurled.

     For the first time since its second death, the body of Mollymauk Tealeaf opened its eyes.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> das ist- that is  
> du bist ein heller kopf- (lit) you are a bright head, equivalent of telling someone they're clever  
> you bet ur ass im gonna write a one-shot of beau and nott's diamond heist. just u wait


	3. in which the hunter becomes the hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i fell asleep in the middle of editing this to post, sorry its a bit late ;w;

     The first order of business once Caleb was conscious again was checking on Molly.  

     Jester was still curled at the foot of the bed, snoring softly with her face mashed into the quilt. _That can’t be comfortable,_ Caleb thought, wincing on her behalf.  Molly was breathing evenly, shapely lips parted, his hair spilling over his shoulders and chest, catching the still-grey light.  Caleb watched him, perhaps for longer than could be considered polite. His eyes flickered beneath his eyelids- dreaming, then. Caleb released a breath, the knot of apprehension in his gut going a little more slack with each soft exhale.  He caught himself about to brush Molly’s fringe from his forehead- his hands were still filthy and it wasn’t his place to do something like that anyhow. He needed a wash and he needed his cat back, and he was much more inclined to get the latter taken care of.

     He rifled through his things and got out the last of the components for the summoning, and set to work.

     He finished the ritual just as the sun rose proper, and as soon as Frumpkin’s paws touched the rough floor he scooped him up, cradling him close to his chest and kissing his soft head, murmuring nonsense in a hushed tone.  Frumpkin mewled, rubbing against Caleb’s beard and kneading his coat. If Caleb got misty-eyed once he had his cat back, no one would be the wiser. He asked Frumpkin to lie around his shoulders and he went willingly, flexing his little claws and rumbling happily in Caleb’s ear.  Caleb scrunched his downy chest.

     “Let’s go get some breakfast, shall we?”  
  
     Frumpkin yawned.

     “I will take that as a yes.”

 

     Fjord, Beau, and Nott came downstairs a little later- Nott and Beau were delighted to see Frumpkin, coming over to Caleb to scritch the cat under his chin.  Fjord refrained from the chin-scratches, but nodded respectfully. Breakfast was burnt eggs and overdone bacon, but they shovelled it down all the same.

     “How is Jester?” Caleb asked, polishing off his eggs.  Nott had picked all the bacon from his plate and moved on to Beau’s, who was considerably more protective of her food.

     “She’s still sleeping.  I tried to wake her up,” Nott said, trying to duck under Beau’s arm and getting knocked on the head for her trouble, “she just- _ow, ow!_ \- she just rolled over.”  

     Caleb nodded, fishing a bit of dried meat from a pocket.  He held it up to Frumpkin, who took it delicately from his fingers and jumped down to the table to enjoy his treat.  The spell was taxing and he had told Jester as much before they did the ritual. She didn’t seem to care, he didn’t expect her to.  Love did strange things to people. He knew that much.

     After breakfast, Beau and Fjord went out behind the inn to spar.  Yesterday had left everyone more twitchy than usual, and it showed in the ferocity of their movement and the efficiency of their strikes.  After a few rounds, Nott slipped away- Caleb fished a bit of wire out of his pocket and whispered _“Be safe and keep your mask on, you can reply to this message”_ into his cupped hands.  A moment later, he heard Nott whisper back.

_“Will do, over and out.”_

     He sent Frumpkin after her, just in case.

 

     Beau and Fjord came in from sparring a few hours later to Caleb and Nott sitting in the common room of the inn.  Nott was counting out a handful of new buttons and Caleb was buried in the book he had been reading in the cart when Fjord got their attention.

     “Hey, Jester up yet?” He asked.  Caleb looked up at him- he had a fist-sized bruise blooming on his shoulder and a hand on his lower back.  He glanced over at Beau- a swath of white fabric stained slightly red was wrapped around her leg.

     Caleb looked around again- he tended to be a bit in his own world when he read.  He didn’t see her tall horns or loud skirts anywhere. “I don’t know. If she is, she hasn’t come down here yet.”

     A seed of worry sprouted in Caleb’s stomach.  It was past noon by then- usually Jester was a fairly early riser.  He rose from his seat, absently patting Nott’s head as he passed her, and went upstairs.  Fjord followed after him.

     When he cracked the door, Jester was where he had left her that morning- curled up with her tail draped over Molly’s legs, her hand loosely grasping the sheets.  Fjord brushed past Caleb and went over to the bed, sitting down next to the two of them.

     “Jester, up and at ‘em.  It’s lunchtime.” She didn’t react to his voice.  He shook her shoulder next. She grumbled something unintelligible and smushed her nose further into the sheets.  Fjord sighed with immeasurable fondness and tucked her hair behind her ear. Caleb flushed. He felt like he was intruding, but he didn’t move from his place just outside the door.

     Eventually Jester pushed herself up onto her elbows.  She looked, for lack of a better comparison, like death.  Her face was still too ashen for comfort and her eyes were bleary and underscored with deep violet shadows.  She sat up and stretched, looking around.

     “Where are we…?” she grumbled, rubbing at her eyes.  

     “We’re at the inn,” Fjord, supplied, “We got here the other night.  Didn’t catch the name.” He thought for a moment. “Actually, I’m not sure it has a name, per se. It’s the only one around here.”  Jester nodded slowly. She caught sight of Caleb hovering outside the door and waved sleepily at him. He raised his hand in response.

     Jester heaved herself off the bed.  She looked back at Molly, watched him breathe for a moment (much more briefly than Caleb had watched him that morning), and shuffled over to the door.

     “What is there to eat? I’m starving,” she threw back over her shoulder.  Fjord also cast a look at Molly before he got up and followed Jester down the stairs, past Caleb.

     The worry sprouting in his gut bloomed anew.  The spell shouldn’t have taken _that_ much out of their cleric.  She had gotten more than eight hours of sleep after she cast the spell, she should _not_ have been so tired.  

     A thought struck Caleb like a snowball to the face.

_What if I remembered the spell incorrectly?_

     He racked his brain for any possible mistake he could have made- he grabbed at his spellbook holster, flipping to where he had put his notes for the resurrection.  He scanned over them twice, three times, and found nothing. The runes looked solid, the lines were consistent and the theory was all there- so what had drained Jester to the point of collapse?

     He thought back to the night before, the sheen of sweat on Jester’s face, how shaky her voice had seemed after the ritual, the baby deer legs to the point of falling over. Resurrection was difficult in any situation, but Molly had only been out of commission for twenty, twenty-four hours at the most.  Someone so newly fallen should not have been so taxing to raise.

_Unless-_

     Caleb stopped his line of thought right there.

     It had been difficult to deal with- he knew he had slept like a stone the night prior.  Maybe her body’s reaction to this sort of stress was just to remain unconscious for longer amounts of time.  

 _It isn’t unheard of, and everyone deals with grief differently,_ Caleb told himself firmly, and turned to go down the stairs.   _Everyone deals with things differently. It’s fine._

_It’s fine._

 

* * *

 

 

     The next three days passed slow as molasses.  The owner of the inn told Fjord delightedly (in a voice just this side of too loud) that he hadn’t had as much business since there was a wedding for a couple in town.  When Fjord asked about when that was, it had taken the dragonborn a minute of counting on his stumpy fingers to figure it out. Fjord tried his best not to scream.

     Almost without words, the Mighty Nein took turns watching over their fallen comrade. He was unresponsive in the day, though the waterskin Jester left by his bed did need refilling every morning, so they assumed he was conscious at least some of the time.  

     Jester’s exhaustion faded for the most part after another solid night’s rest.  There were still shadows under her eyes, but then again, weren’t they all plagued by some form of exhaustion?  Caleb put the worry out of his mind as best he could. Jester was fine. If anything, she was back to her usual exuberant self.  She chatted happily away to Mollymauk as she took her watch over him, about what he was missing, about their journey, about the pretty men and women and others who had come through her mother’s establishment and the truly excellent pranks she pulled on them.  Her sketchbook was filling more quickly, with studies of Molly’s jewellry and the strong profile he cut, even unconscious and exhausted.

     The morning of the fourth day dawned dark and storming.  Beau rested her head against the cool glass, watching the rain.  Frumpkin was curled up on her lap, her hand stroking him absently, cat hair all over her pants.  The rest of the Mighty Nein still slept in the blanket pile from the first night, supposedly out of convenience, but somehow everyone ended up cuddling.  It was cute, for sure, and Jester’s cool, solid weight was something she had gotten accustomed to drifting off with, but altogether it was too cramped. Beau would be happy to have a bed to herself and Jester once Molly was back on his feet.

     Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Beau found herself drawn back to her thoughts, her eyes flicking over the dirt road below the inn, now ostensibly a river of mud.  Frumpkin stretched and stood on his hind legs, front claws kneading the soft wood of the windowsill. Beau leaned into his temple as he rubbed against her face.

     “You miss her too, huh?” She murmured.

     Frumpkin didn’t get a chance to answer (if he would have- he was a magic cat and Beau’s life had only gotten exponentially more strange the longer she stuck around these weirdos, it wasn’t out of the question), because at that moment, Molly shifted in his bed, mumbling something. Beau’s heart leapt into her throat and she stood, Frumpkin in her arms turning towards the noise.  She tiptoed to his bedside across the creaking floor and perched on the edge of the mattress.

     Molly’s face screwed up.  He groaned and rubbed slowly at his eyes, leaving a hand over them for a moment, probably to adjust to the light.  Beau blew out the lantern on the bedside table. When she turned back to face him, he was staring at her. It was more of a relief than she had anticipated.  A grin spread unbidden across her face from ear to ear.

     “Hey, asshole,” Beau said, her voice tight, “Welcome back to the world of the living.”  Molly studied her, quiet for a moment. Then a similar smile tugged at his lips.

     “Good to be back.”

     Beau extended her hand to Molly as he shifted onto his elbows to help him up, but he waved her off, scooting up against the headboard, tilting his head back.  He sighed deeply, filling his chest with air the same way Beau’s father would enjoy a glass of expensive wine. His hair was a knotted mess in the back from what Beau could see, and he seemed to need a minute to adjust to being upright.  Beau stroked Frumpkin and went to put him on Molly’s lap.

     Frumpkin had other plans.

     He twisted in Beau’s grasp, her quick reflexes the only thing keeping him from leaping onto the floor.  To Beau’s utter confusion, he hissed and arched in Molly’s direction.

     “What the hell, cat, you-” Beau cursed as Frumpkin tore his claws over her arm and launched himself onto the floor and into Nott’s arms as she slept.  Beau stuck the wound in her mouth, sucking hard at it. Copper bloomed brightly on her tongue. Molly looked up at Frumpkin’s yowling to where he now curled.  The cat’s ears were flattened back against his skull and his tail stuck up at all angles like a bottlebrush. Molly snarled back at Frumpkin.

     “Huh. Cabin fever must be getting to him.” Beau supplied, her eyes trained on Molly’s teeth.  Her neck prickled with something like fear- some deep-rooted instinct telling her to get as far away from the angry tiefling as possible.  She stamped it down and cleared her throat. “So, uh, how are you feeling?”  
Molly’s lips covered his teeth again once Frumpkin had burrowed into Nott’s arms, out of sight. Nott rolled over, sighed, nuzzled into Jester’s tummy.  The chill didn’t let go of Beau’s spine.

     “I feel like death warmed over, how do you think?”  He laughed without humour. His voice seemed to crawl out of his throat, sluggish, like it was a struggle.  Beau sucked on her wound once more, pressed it to make sure it was done bleeding, and wiped it on her pants.  She watched Molly’s chest rise and fall a few more times, filling and emptying his lungs completely. His eyes fluttered shut until the next gentle roll of thunder.

     “Is there anything to eat around here? I’m starving.” Molly stretched luxuriantly, twinging a bit when the fresh scars pulled taut.  Beau nodded, looking towards the group. They’d all had such a rough few nights- she didn’t feel right waking them.

     “Yeah, plenty of undercooked eggs and charred bacon,” she said. Molly breathed out slowly through his teeth.

     "It’ll have to do.”  He pulled the quilt off his legs, swinging them over the side of the bed.  Beau held her hand out again to help him off. “Oh, enough of that, I can do it myself,” he snapped, getting to his feet.  He swayed alarmingly for a second, his tail swinging out to catch himself. Beau’s hand flew up again and this time he snapped it with his tail, or at least tried to.  The hit landed with a thump on Beau’s thigh.

     “Ow, geez, Molly!” She rubbed where his tail had struck as he walked by her, wobbling slightly.

     “I told you not to touch me,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry.  He put his hand on the wall for support and opened the door.

     Beau rolled her eyes and went after him.  So much for gratitude.

 

     Molly had been travelling with their little band for close to half a year, now, and Beau had never in that time seen him eat the way he did that morning.

     The poor old dragonborn was having a hard time keeping up with the orders Molly kept putting in.  He shovelled down the watery eggs and gamey bacon like he had never eaten in his life, downed tankard after tankard of mead, and growled when Beau dared suggest that he take it easy before he made himself sick.  She held her hands up in surrender and went back upstairs to grab some gold out of her satchel to pay for all of it. She figured no one would mind if she took it from the party funds. It was for Molly, after all.

     Jester blinked to consciousness as Beau opened the door.  She sat up and yawned a ‘good morning’ to Beau, and glanced over towards the now-empty bed. Her eyes went round as saucers and she rolled out of the blanket pile, smushing Nott into Caleb and jostling Frumpkin into darting under the bed.  The two of them shot up vertically when Jester screeched, reaching half asleep for weapons and spellbooks.

     “BEAU! Is Molly--”  She looked over the bed frantically, at the messy sheets and mattress, whirling around to look Beauregard in the face.  Beau put her hands on Jester’s shoulders, pulling her dress up to be somewhere close to modest.

     “Yeah, he’s up, and he’s eating everything he can get his hands on.” Jester’s face broke like the dawn, lighting up from within, and she rushed past Beau and down the stairs.  Caleb, Fjord, and Nott all got to their feet as well, with similar guardedly hopeful expressions. Beau nodded to them and turned to go when they all heard a high shriek.

     “MOLLY!”

     “What the fu- _OOF!_ ”, followed by a loud clattering of wood and a two-tiefling-size _thump._

     The four of them rushed downstairs.

 

     They found Jester animatedly acting out the resurrection to Molly, who was looking _very_ overwhelmed and settling back into his chair.  The tip of his tail twitched on the floor as he kept an eye on Jester, leaning protectively over his food.  He must have been really disoriented, Caleb thought- Molly knew Jester refused to touch anything that wasn’t sugary and baked.

     The tension bled from Caleb as the others passed him on the stairs.  He sagged slightly against the railing. Nott ran over and threw an arm around Mollymauk’s waist at the same time Fjord clapped a hand on his shoulder.  He startled at the sudden noise and contact and made an odd sound in his throat- Nott and Fjord released him almost immediately, backing up to give him some room.

     “Jester, let him breathe,” Nott laughed, tugging at her skirt.  Jester flushed violet, waving her hand in front of her face.

     “Sorry, sorry, I just- Molly, we were just really, really worried about you.  We weren’t sure if- well, you know.” She rocked a little on the balls of her feet, twirling one trailing sleeve around her finger.  Molly looked her over, nodding and draining the last of the tankard. He laid a hand on her arm and gave her a thin smile.

     “The important part is that I’m back.” Jester’s smile returned, dimpling her chubby cheeks.  Molly still seemed uneasy as the others sat at their own chairs around the table, scraping the last of his plate clean.

     Beau was still on the landing of the stairs.  She leaned into Caleb’s space, her eyes on the table below them.

     “You okay, man?” She murmured, brows raised slightly.  Caleb nodded- not that Beau was looking at him, that moment.  They both watched Molly finish his food just as the old dragonborn brought out new plates, with some for the others.  Molly set in on the newly presented food with as much vigor as he had previously. He spluttered, drawing a long curl of his raven hair from his mouth, wiping bits of egg out of it.  

     “He’s been doin’ that all morning,” Beau raised her hand to cover her mouth under guise of scratching her nose.  Caleb glanced down, and-

     “Beauregard, what happened to your arm?” Caleb asked, concern creasing his brow.  Beau glanced at the four neat lines on the soft inner half of her wrist.

     “Oh, the cat got frisky this morning, decided he didn’t want to be held anymore.” She said, waving him off. “It’s fine, barely even bled.”  Caleb’s stomach sank. Frumpkin did not usually resort to violence. He was a very sweet-tempered cat. Why had today been different?

     At the table, Molly cursed.  One of the bejewelled chains strung between his horns had come loose and smacked him in the nose.  He reached up and gave it a hard pull- it snapped, and he stuffed the broken bit of it into the pocket of his jacket, and went back to eating, all without missing a beat.  Fjord stared at him, his fork hovering in midair, full of badly scrambled egg.

     “All this bothersome damn jewelry, all this bloody hair…” Molly muttered between bites.  Fjord cleared his throat and finished his bit of egg. His eyes were fixed on the broken chain now dangling free above Molly’s ears.  Nott and Jester glanced at Molly, then at each other. “What?” Molly asked, still leaned over his food. When they didn’t answer immediately, he asked again. _“What?”_

     “...Nothin’, just...nothin’.” Fjord said.  Molly blinked, then leaned slightly back in his seat.  He brushed his hair back over his shoulders, a futile effort, and grunted, going back to scarfing down his food.

     That was only the beginning.

 

* * *

 

     Once breakfast was done and paid for (from Beau’s personal stash of gold) Molly went back upstairs, saying he needed to sleep his meal off.  Beau smirked and crowed ‘told you so’, but the look Molly fixed her with was anything but friendly. When Nott went to check on him, he was in the small washroom taking out the last of his jewelry, tugging on a horn ring tangled in his curls, and finally breaking the ring entirely and throwing it on the small pile he had amassed.  He grumbled something under his breath that she didn’t catch and leaned in to the mirror, tilting his head this way and that. Nott couldn’t be sure, but from the way his fingers traced over the peacock feathers on the side of his face, she guessed he must have been looking at his tattoos.

     The floor creaked under Nott’s talons.  Molly spun around on the small bench, his eyes focusing on the slightly open door the way a prowling cat’s eyes might focus on a struggling bird.  Nott flinched.

     “Oh! You’re awake! Sorry, I, um, I was just coming in for- for a wash, but I can- I can do that later!” Molly’s gaze didn’t falter.  Nott balked, turning on her heel and heading back to the stairs. After she heard Molly walk back to their room, she went to the washroom and gathered the pile of trinkets into her bag for safekeeping.

 

     When he came back downstairs after his nap, Molly’s shirt was laced up to his throat, the new scars on his chest concealed, the puffy-sleeved jacket discarded.  His hair was pulled out of his face and tied in a tight bun at the base of his skull. The shorter curls still looked dangerously close to matting in the back. Jester fussed over it, lamenting the lack of a bath-house in the dead-end little village.  

     “Everybody is so stinky,” she groaned, “Like, more stinky than usual, I don’t think the washrag baths are cutting it anymore!” Beau patted her shoulder sympathetically.

     “We can be back on the road soon.  We just have to wait ‘til Molly’s all healed and ready, and then we can get going.” She pulled the map from Jester’s haversack, spreading it on the rough wooden table.  She pointed to Zadash, tracing her finger west, and stopping on Kamordah. Molly got up, hovering over Beau’s shoulder. “We’re somewhere in the middle, here.” She tapped the open space between the two cities.  “We tried cutting across the plains to save time, but…” She glanced back at Molly, guilt easy to read on her face. “Yeah.”

     Jester sighed. “So technically, you have no idea where we are, technically.”

     “That’s the long and short of it, yeah.”

     Jester let her head thump onto the table beside the map and whined loudly.

     Molly, however, leaned down closer to the map, lashes flicking as he studied it. The tip of his tail swished, skimming over the floor. He stood up straight again, rolling his head on his shoulders.

     “Personally, I am more than ready to get out of here.  Somewhere with proper lodgings and food sounds wonderful.” Jester looked him over.

     “Are you sure you want to leave so soon? It’s boring here, but if you’re still recovering, we can wait-” Molly cut her off with a raised finger.

     “I understand your concern.  However, if I am not out of here by nightfall, I will lose my damn mind.” He turned and took the stairs two at a time.  “Notify the others, would you?”

     Beau narrowed her eyes at his retreating back and rolled up the map, grumbling to herself.  Where did he get off all of a sudden, acting like the prince of wherever-the-fuck?

     “He’s been a real pain in the ass since he woke up,” Beau said, a line appearing between her brows as she tucked the map back into Jester’s bag.  “I almost wish he’d stayed asleep, if he’s gonna keep acting like that.” Jester shot up, slamming her hands on the table.

     “Beau!” She scolded, scandalized. “How could you say something like that!”

     “What, I’m right! He’s been mean all day! Not even in a funny, ‘ha-ha’ way like normal, he’s just been rude!”  
  
     “Well, how would _you_ act, if you just got re-animated after a horrible fight, huh?” Jester crossed her arms tight below her bosom, facing Beau in earnest now.  Beau threw her arms out wide.

     “I dunno, not like that? Has he even _thanked_ you for bringing him back?” She demanded, pointing at the stairs.  Jester faltered. “Well, has he?”

     Jester’s arms uncrossed, suddenly looking very interested in her fingerless gloves. “I- I mean, he has been trying to regain his strength, and, I mean-”  She fiddled with the clasps on her gloves, not meeting Beau’s gaze. “Well...no, no he hasn’t. But really, Beau, it’s okay, he’s just tired.”

    Beau sensed the tension in Jester’s posture and backed down a little, letting her arms fall to her sides. She sighed, blowing the loose piece of hair out of her eyes.  She pulled Jester to her side and rested her cheek against her horn.

     “I’m not mad at you, okay?” She felt Jester nod. “I’m gonna go up and start packing.  Let Nott and the guys know his Highness wants to get a move on, yeah?” Jester turned and chastely kissed Beau’s jaw in lieu of an answer, heading out the door around back where Caleb and Nott would be lounging in the sun and Fjord would be practising his falchion maneuvers.

    Beau gave herself a moment to let the flush in her cheeks go down before she followed Molly upstairs.

 

     She found him kneeling in front of his bag, sorting through his belongings.  He was strangely quiet without the constant musical jingle of his jewelry, or the rustling of his coat.  Only the click of his heeled boots gave him away, and even then, it was hard to discern. Beau sauntered into the room, not bothering to mask her presence.  He looked quickly up when the floorboards creaked under her weight, but looked back down just as quickly when he registered it was her. She began to gather up the extra quilts the innkeeper had given them, folding them as nicely as she could manage.

    “So,” She started, as nonchalant as she could manage with her back facing Molly, “You sure you’re up to a few nights on the road, after all that?” She stacked the second blanket on top of the first, smoothing it out absently.  She heard Molly scoff.

     “I will be quite alright.  You act like I never travel.”  Beau heard him drag something from under the bed he had slept in- his swords.  He made another noise in his throat, and she turned to see him with his fantastic coat pinched between his first finger and his thumb, holding it like something Frumpkin might drag in as a gift.  He dropped it, examining the glass gems in the hilts of the swords. The prior annoyance Beau had felt downstairs warped and cooled into deep sureness- something was profoundly _wrong._  Molly caught her eye, arching one perfectly shaped brow.  “Is there something you want to say? I can hear you thinking from over here.”

     Beau turned back around, dropping the final blanket onto her pile and getting to her feet.

     “No, nothing.  Just thinking about how nice it’s been here.  Quiet.” She smoothed the fabric once more and lifted the bundle.  “You seem awfully excited to get to...where was it…”  
  
     “Kamordah,” Molly supplied immediately, examining a scratch on the blade of his scimitar. _Interesting,_ thought Beau.   _Sorry about this, Jester._

     “How long did you say it’s been since you were there last? Five, ten years?”  
  
     Molly hummed noncommittally. "Something like that."

 _Very_ interesting.

     Beau walked past him to the door. “Soon as we get everything paid for, we can be on our way.”  

     “Paid for?” He asked. “Why not just...be on our way?” Beau stopped in her tracks, and turned around to face him. He seemed completely unbothered, having put down one sword to examine the other.  Beau frowned.

      “...Okay, you know, normally, I would be completely on board with that, if we were staying somewhere shitty that didn’t treat its workers right, or treat us right.” Her hands clenched in the quilts out of Molly’s sight. “But not here in this tiny, podunk village, when the guy running this place has been nothing but hospitable and nice, and _especially_ not after your stunt this morning trying to eat the poor  guy out of house and home- house and inn-- Whatever.” He looked up at her, and his expression inflamed her further.  He looked _bored._ Beau’s jaw shook.

     “And why _not?_ I think we have given this man more than enough of our hard-earned gold, Beau.”

     The wrongness in her gut solidified, leaden and freezing.  She was shocked that she didn’t fall through the floor. Instead, she took a deep breath, held, and slowly released it, like she helped Fjord do when his anxiety got the best of him.  Maybe the monks at the Cobalt Soul were onto something with that.

     “We’re going to pay the man, and we’ll be on our way. I’ll get the others.”

     She turned and walked out the creaking door, leaving the tiefling alone in their rented room.


	4. in which blood is thicker than water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [TW, PLEASE READ]  
> gratuitous violence, graphic depiction of the blood curse of the fallen puppet, general awfulness. ill put an asterisk before and after the gory bit and a tl;dr at the end. no one important dies!
> 
> also, apologies that this chapter was so late. i had to visit my parents two weekends in a row and then pride was this past weekend and the battle scene was a BITCH to write, but here i am! i hope you enjoy <3

     The morning’s brief sunshine had shifted to clouds again by afternoon, hardly drying the muddy path that lead out of the village.  Jester drove the cart towards the edges of the road, where the hard pack of the dirt rejected the water better than the middle of the road.  A cool breeze swept over the plains, rustling the grass in shining waves of green-gold. The collection of houses clustered around the well and inn shrunk behind the Mighty Nein, now the size of a copper in the opposite direction of their travel.  Beau couldn’t say she was sorry to see it go. She pillowed her head on her arm, curled up around the bedrolls with her staff across her lap. The sky reflected on the thin sheet of water on the road, looking more like a river than something they ought to take a cart on.  She glanced over her shoulder at the lilac smear in the corner of her eye.

     Molly (or whoever it was) walked alongside the cart with a spring in his step- though not his usual loose, easy sway.  No, if Beau had to describe it, she would have said it was closer to a wildcat’s gait, lithe and measured, and so damn _quiet_.  It was wrong to see him stripped so bare of baubles and decoration, wearing clothes for function rather than show.  Despite walking for an hour, he hadn’t unlaced his shirt by a single eyelet. Not that she wanted to see his chest littered with new scars, but it was just so unlike Molly.  It sat like a stone in her gut. She traced the grain of her staff anxiously.

     Looking around, no one else seemed to notice anything was amiss.  Jester was going to have to be the last one they talked to- thinking about it put a sour taste in Beau’s mouth.   _This is gonna break her heart._

     Fjord walked on the other side of the cart, the mud splashing his boots.  He didn’t seem to mind any. Beau thought about it- he was her best friend, but he was also the type to watch things play out and get a lay of the land before he made a move.  If he wasn’t already of the mind that something was wrong, it could be hard to convince him by herself. Nott was surprisingly hard to read on the matter. She was always twitchy, even in a relatively safe setting.  It was hard to tell with her. She sat on the driver’s bench beside Jester, deftly plaiting the bits of string Jester gave her from a ruined pair of stockings into...well, bigger bits of string. It kept her hands occupied, though, and she said it helped with her Itch.  Beau allowed herself a tiny, fond quirk of the lip.

     That left Caleb.

     Caleb Widogast was one of the strangest men Beau had ever met, and in the past, when she was less sure of herself, she spent time around a _lot_ of strange men.  He was cagey and secretive and self destructive in a way Beau had never seen, and at the same time, he was probably one of the most competent spellcasters she had ever witnessed at work.  He was dry and funny in an understated way, and moreover, he was incredibly perceptive. If anyone else had an inkling, it would be him. She watched his pale eyes flicker over the pages of his spellbook, in the corner of the cart behind Nott and Jester.  Beau sighed.  
  
     Not for the first time, she wished Yasha were with them.  Yasha would know in an instant that something was wrong, and Beau wouldn’t have to sneak around to avoid a conflict, because Yasha knew Molly better than any of them.  Beau glanced at the clouds again and took a deep breath through her nose, trying to discern if there would be rain anytime soon. Not that it meant anything- Yasha came and went as she pleased, or as her Stormlord pleased.  It was just nice to feel like she knew when their missing party member would be back.

 _Now that’s two of us gone,_ Beau thought, and dug her short nails into her staff.  Not if she could help it.

     “Hey, Jes, pull over a minute,” Beau called to the front of the cart, sitting up. “Piss break.”  Jester pulled on the reins, bringing their horse to a stop. It nickered softly, turning into Jester’s claws when she hopped down from her seat to scritch it under its chin.  Beau watched her drop a few kisses on its velvety nose, and tapped Caleb’s head with her staff. “Come guard me while I do my business.”

     Caleb stared at her as if she had grown a second head. “ _Excuse_ me?”  Beau tapped him on the head again, a little more firmly this time, and raised her brows in a way that he was sure _had_ to mean _something._

     “Stand guard so I don’t get jumped by wolverines in the middle of taking a piss!” She emphasized her words with more taps on his head until he pushed her weapon away and scowled.  After a moment, he shut his book and stood to step over the supplies packed in the cart. Beau hopped out first, helping him down with an outstretched hand. He took it and landed as gracefully as it was possible for him to land, with three inches of water on the road.  

     Nott stayed firmly put on the cart and nodded to Caleb as he followed Beau into the marshy grass.  Molly (Beau would have to figure out something else to refer to him as, calling that thing ‘Molly’ made her want to be sick) didn’t seem to pay her any mind, too busy glaring daggers at Jester for splashing around  the cart. Beau wanted to punch the sneer right off his face.

     Once she and Caleb were out of earshot, she nudged him with her elbow.  “Okay, full disclosure, I do have to go, but also, I need to talk to you about Molly.”

     Caleb’s expression shifted to mildly interested confusion to concern.  “ _Ja_ , what about him? Is he alright?” He glanced back towards the cart and Beau smacked his chest lightly.

     “Don’t do that, it looks fishy. And- no, not exactly, he’s like…” She took a moment to find the words, the mud squelching beneath their boots. “He’s not himself. I mean that in the most literal way possible. I think something went wrong with the resurrection.”

     If it weren’t for Beau’s quick reflexes, Caleb would have fallen face-down in the wet grass.

     “Okay, okay, just- here, stand here and look the other way.” She steered him to face away from her, out towards the mountains, just visible on the horizon.  He stayed put, thank the gods, his hand delving into his pocket to fuss with his spellcasting diamond. That was fine. Beau crouched in the tall grass several feet back and faced the opposite way as Caleb, for some semblance of privacy.  

     “What- What do you think went wrong with the ritual? Did it hurt him, did he lose- did he lose more memories, did he--” Caleb demanded, his eyes still squarely on the snowy peaks of the Cyrios Mountains.

     “I don’t know for sure, but dude, he said he was in Kamordah five or ten years ago.”  The diamond went still in Caleb’s hand. “And he wanted to skip out on the bill, at the inn.  And he’s been mean since he woke up, even to Jester. You know that’s not like him at all.”

     “I- yes, that’s certainly out of character, but-” Caleb stuttered, his voice pitching slightly higher in the beginnings of an anxious fit.  That wouldn’t do.

     “Caleb.” Beau said over her shoulder, “Deep breaths. Like we practised.”  When she was done, she tucked herself back into her pants, stood up, and took a little extra time to tie her sash, giving Caleb time for five repetitions of the breathing exercise she taught him weeks ago. “You have to be cool about it when we get back to the others.  I don’t know _what’s_ wrong, I just know something _is_ wrong.” She elbowed him gently (or so she thought) when she felt he’d had enough time to breathe.  

     When he turned to face her again, worrying the diamond between his hands, with a look on his face like he wanted to bolt.  Beau’s expression softened.

     “Hey, you with me, man?” She received a jerky nod in response.  Moving slowly, so he had time to pull away, she laid a hand on his upper arm and squeezed softly. “We’re gonna figure it out, whatever it is.  I just gotta know, can I count on you to have my back?” They started back to the cart, the mud squelching grossly under them. Caleb huffed an anxious laugh.

     “Depends what you mean by ‘have your back’. That feels like a loaded question.”

     “Aw, fuck off.  You know, just- don’t tell anybody what I told you ‘til I say so, alright? Not even Nott.  We’ll talk more later.” She fell silent as they came into earshot of the cart, where Jester, Nott, and Fjord were discussing the best way to cook rabbit.  Not-Molly stood off to the side, eyeing the humans as they approached. Beau pointedly did not meet his gaze, and she felt Caleb shift uncomfortably behind her. They clambered back into the cart, Beau curling up among the bedrolls once more, and Caleb picking his way back to his spot.  Once he was settled, he snapped Frumpkin into existence.

     Jester hopped up on the side of the cart, extending a hand for Frumpkin to nuzzle into.  “You guys ready?” She asked. Beau looked over the cart, taking mental note of where everyone was. She caught Caleb’s eye and they exchanged a minute nod.  They would figure this out.

     “Yeah, I think so.”

 

* * *

 

 

     Night fell quickly the nearer they got to the mountains.  The ground was still squishy with the rain from the previous drizzle, a fact that Nott was incredibly unhappy about.  When Caleb offered to hold her until they had set up somewhere dry-ish to sit, she scrambled onto his shoulders, carding anxiously through his hair as he set up the perimeter of the alarm.  It weighed on him, that he couldn’t share his knowledge of the situation with Molly with her until Beau gave him the go-ahead. She had been tense since they left the inn. She didn’t do well with stormy weather.

     Almost on cue, thunder rolled over the mountains.  Nott grabbed onto Caleb’s hair as he finished the alarm spell, claws digging in to the point of pain for a second, then releasing when she realized what she was doing.

     “Sorry, sorry,” she murmured, stroking the hair she had mussed back into some semblance of order.

     “It’s alright, the storm is moving south, see?” He pointed out the motion of the clouds, difficult to see in the dark sky, but still there.  Nott squinted, tracking the slow-moving storm. “It’ll miss us by a few miles.”

     Nott relaxed, not as much as Caleb would have hoped for, but it was alright.  She hopped down from his shoulders as the silver thread faded from view, a silent promise of protection.

     “Let’s see if anyone has a fire going. We can scrape something together for dinner,” she said with a snaggle-toothed smile.  

     The cart and the rest of the group had gone a bit into a copse of trees, one of the few that existed dotted around the plains.  They were more common in the south, but some pieces had made their way north, through migration of birds or lucky wind patterns, reaching up into the sky.  They were green now, the first traces of spring evident in the flower buds mixed in with the leaves and the bird calls after the long winter. Caleb let himself breathe freely for a moment, enjoying the fresh air away from the city.  He had always loved the woods. They had served him well in the years he’d wandered.

     Taking a deep breath, he could tell that no one had gotten the fire going before he and Nott rounded the corner into the small clearing they had found.  Sure enough, Fjord was bent over a pile of soaked wood, trying his best to get the bits of flint to spark. His bottom tusks, growing just barely past his lower lip, stuck out in his concentration.  It would have been endearing, if his task weren’t so obviously futile. Jester and Beau were scattering straw around the tents and the fire pit Fjord had cobbled together to try and dry out the ground.  Nott scampered forward to help them, and Caleb knelt by Fjord.

     “Here, more like this,” he said quietly, taking the flint from Fjord’s calloused hands.  In Caleb’s grasp, the flint seemed almost childish- who had need for stones when he could make fire as soon as he thought the word?- but he struck them precisely anyway, the sparks catching on a few of the drier leaves and straw Fjord had stuffed between the logs.  With a little encouragement, the fire caught. It didn’t roar, but it would give them a more comfortable place to sleep. Fjord whistled, low and impressed.

     “I still don’t know how you do that on the first try every time,” he marvelled as Caleb handed him back the bits of flint.  Caleb let himself preen a little, privately.

     “It’s all in the angle of your wrist.  Really, it’s nothing special.” Fjord still raised his eyebrows as he rose, stretching out his back. He dropped the flint back into his kit, and turned to the cart.

     Molly stood there, watching the goings-on with sharp eyes.  He was so silent that Caleb had passed over him almost entirely.  It threw him for a loop- Mollymauk Tealeaf did not blend in with his surroundings.  This man was frighteningly good at it. Beau’s words played again in the back of Caleb’s mind, and he turned them over for any possible alternate meanings they could have.

_He’s not himself. I mean that in the most literal way possible._

     At the moment, there was only one interpretation that Caleb could think of, with her choice of words- Molly, the same way as he had woken up after being someone else for twenty-three-odd years of his life, had simply ceased to be.  The thought was so repulsive that Caleb grit his teeth, trying not to let himself shiver with it. He fought down the surge of bile, delving into his pocket for the diamond again. If that was the case (and something marrow-deep in Caleb whispered that it could be), then this stranger had waltzed into Molly’s life, worn his skin for close to a week, talked to the rest of their party as if he _were_ Molly-

     Caleb cut himself off mid-thought.  He needed to assess the situation for himself. There was still a chance, however small, that Molly could just be feeling off from being resurrected.  He needed to get him alone to be sure.

     Once the straw was distributed and sore limbs were stretched, Nott and Beau decided that it was time for dinner.  Upon looking over their supplies, they decided subsequently that they would have to go _catch_ dinner. As they left the campsite, Beau did something funny with her eye that Caleb figured was meant to be a wink.  The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. If Beau talked to Nott and Caleb could really examine Mollymauk sometime that night, then he could confer with his little friend to see what she made of the situation.  

     Satisfied for the moment, he took out a sheet of expensive, fine paper, set it on one of his closed spellbooks, and began to copy his notes.

 

* * *

 

     After Beau and Nott left to find dinner, Molly got restless.  Jester watched him pick through the cart, shifting bags and supplies (which admittedly, they were low on) out of his way, the tip of his tail swishing in irritation.  She waited for thirty seconds, the line of his shoulders becoming more and more tense. He finally stood straight and ripped the leather strip out of his now-wild hair, coming away with long crow-gleaming curls clinging to it.  Jester winced, fluffing her own coily cloud of hair in sympathy.

     “Molly? Are you looking for something?” she asked.  Molly didn’t turn around, instead raking his claws through his hair.  His hand caught immediately, and he made a frustrated noise in his throat. “Molly?” He still didn’t turn, trying to comb his hair out from the roots.  Jester trotted over to his side, concern pooling in her belly.

     “Molly, what are you _doing?_ You’re going to tear all your pretty hair out!”  He finally looked up when her chiding came from right beside him. He growled under his breath, removing his hand (and more than a few strands of hair) from the tangled mess.

     “That is what I’ve been tempted to do since I woke up,” he grumbled, shaking the stray hairs off his hand.  Jester frowned.

     “Oh, you don’t want to do that! Don’t worry, as soon as we get to Kamordah, we can find a nice bath-house, and- oh! My mom sent me more conditioner in her last package! It’s the peony and rosehip and patchouli kind that you like! We can-”  Molly cut her off with a raised finger, a line forming between his brows.

     “Nevermind.  I found what I was looking for.” He brushed past her, fiddling with his sleeve.  “I’m going to the creek. Do not follow me.”

     “Wait- Molly! What creek?” But he was gone, tail swishing behind him.  Jester stared after him, incredulous. She stomped through the soft carpet of dead leaves left from the past fall, kicking them up in wet piles, clenching and unclenching her fists.  She sat down in a huff, grabbing her sketchbook out of her haversack. She flipped past the drawings of Molly to a clean page- then paused, flipped back and scribbled a curly moustache on one of the less nice ones.  She didn’t hear Fjord coming over to sit by her until he was settled, leaning against her.

     “What’s got you in such a temper?” He leaned over, looking at her furious editing.  

     “Molly is-” She croaked, shaking her head, “He is like- I know he just woke up and everything and he’s been through a lot and it’s terrible and I wish it hadn’t happened, but-- he’s being a _huge_ dick!”  She slammed her sketchbook shut and looked up at Fjord.  “You know, I was worried about him, but he’s just been _really_ rude all day, and I told him we could stay at the inn again if he wasn’t ready to be on the road, but _no,_ he’s just being a grouchy asshole!”  Her voice rose to a shout by the end of her breathless tirade. “And even before then, he’s been dismissing me like I am a little kid, which I’m not!  I’m twenty-six in the summer!”

     Jester slumped, her head dropping to his shoulder while her hands painted frustrated pictures in the air.  Fjord heard a soft _thwack_ behind him, and when he looked to his other side, the wiry-haired end of her tail was limp and sad at his hip.  The pink ribbon around it showed stains from the night of Molly’s death that she couldn’t scrub out. He would buy her a new one in Kamordah.

     “And he hasn’t even said thank you to me, for bringing him back.  Not even once.” She said, her hands falling into her lap. She picked at her claws.  Fjord rubbed between her shoulders, scratching gently. “I was scared. It was hard and I was scared. He doesn’t even...” She trailed off.

     “You did great, Jes.” He said softly, letting his cheek rest on her head.  Her knees drew up and he looped his arm around her waist, his hand big and warm and steady. She let her chin settle on her knee, uncharacteristically quiet.  “You did everything right. You did great.”

     The last dregs of sunlight disappeared, leaving everything awash in the twilight.  Fjord and Jester talked quietly together for a while. Fjord even managed to get Jester to laugh.  As the light faded, Caleb summoned his dancing lights, soft and gold, to supplement the dying fire.  

     When Fjord came back from his firewood run, he paused at the edge of the clearing.  A flicker of motion caught his eye- he turned towards soft footfalls, lighter than Beau’s and more purposeful than Nott’s.

     For a solid second, Fjord didn’t recognize the figure slinking through of the shadows of the forest behind him.  Curling horns, striding- no, _stalking,_ stalking was the appropriate word- like something hunting, something that had caught the scent of its prey.  What gave away his identity was the eyes, red and glinting and wine-dark in the low light as he emerged smooth as a shark-fin from the sea.  

     “...Molly?”  
  
     A second passed.  Then a smile curled Molly’s lips.  He tilted his head, his daintily pointed ears-  Fjord caught his breath. As long as he could remember, before today, he had never seen Molly’s ears so completely exposed.

  
     “Molly, your _hair!”_

  
     What once had been a cascading, romantic spill of shining black locks, falling midway down Molly’s back at its longest, fringe arranged always in careful, artful disarray over his high cheekbones and forehead, layered and dressed with love and attention to detail, the way Molly did all things, was no more.

     His hair was now an inch long at the most, not even long enough to curl properly.  It was cut out around his ears, devoid of piercings, pushed up and away from his face, revealing a slight widow’s peak.  Long black wisps clung to the tightly-laced white shirt he wore, ghostly and wrong, and still, he smiled, the endearing dimple at the corner of his mouth like a taunt.  Molly ran a hand through his newly shorn hair. It shone damp in the moonlight peeking through the clouds.     

     “You don’t like it, Fjord? How devastating, after I spent so much time to get it right!”

     He looked anything but devastated.  There was a smile on his mouth and nothing behind his eyes.  Fjord fell back half a step, trying to process what was happening when Jester _shrieked._

     Her hands were clapped over her mouth, her sketchbook fallen on the ground.  Her eyes were round as moons, fixed on Molly. Caleb, who had been drifting off into his book and was startled by the noise, shot to his feet.

     “What’s wrong?” He asked, “Are you hurt, Jester?”  He followed her line of sight to Molly and Fjord.

     “Everything is fine.” Molly assured them, putting his hand out placatingly.

     “Why did you--” Jester started, getting to her feet.  Molly shrugged.

     “Why not? It was annoying me, so I got rid of it.  It is my body, after all.” His lip curled in a way that made Caleb’s ribs seize.  Without the hair, without his open posture, without his warmth, this could have been a different man.  In that moment, Caleb knew Beau was right. The ritual had worked, yes- but this was not their Molly. This was not _his_ Mollymauk.

     The man stretched, walking past  Fjord and up to Jester in that strange un-Molly way, and with a smooth movement, tucked a small silver pair of scissors back into the chatelaine that hung from her belt.  “I believe these are yours.”

     Jester planted her palm in the centre of his chest and shoved him, hard.  He stumbled back, only just managing to stay on his feet. She stomped past him to her tent, flung open the flap, and disappeared inside, her tail whipping angrily behind her the whole way.

     “Bloody hells, what is her _problem?”_ Not-Molly muttered.  

 

* * *

 

     Nott and Beau’s reaction to the change was about what Caleb had expected.  Beau skinned the two fat rabbits she and Nott had snared aggressively and Nott tracked every movement the lavender tiefling made.  Caleb tried to catch one of them to confer, but Not-Molly was always too close for comfort. Jester didn’t come out of her tent. When Beau went to check on her, she reported that Jester did not feel like eating, glaring at Not-Molly with an intensity that may have melted his skull, were she a magic-wielder.

 

     Once their small dinner was split between the five of them, they discussed the order of watch.  

 

     “I can take first watch,” Not-Molly said, picking his teeth with a claw. Caleb licked the grease from his fingers, glancing around at his companions before he spoke up.

     “I’ll assist you.”  Not-Molly glanced at him, brow raised.  Caleb’s heart skipped a beat.

     “I cannot see myself needing assistance, especially from a human who is unable to see in the dark.”  It stung, but every passing second, this stranger gave Caleb more and more proof that he was not who he was meant to be.  He could at least try to get some information out of him while the others figured out what action to take next. He was good for that, at least.

     “We always take watches in pairs.” Caleb said. “Better me and you together than me and Beauregard, who also cannot see in the dark.  You know that.” Not-Molly shrugged, seemingly effortless, but to Caleb’s trained eye and new perspective on the situation, there was a bit of a delay, a hitch.

    “...I suppose so.  Fine.” He shrugged tersely.

     The rest of the watches were Beau and Fjord, then Jester and Nott.  As the others went back to their tents, Nott brushed Caleb on her way past, trailing claws over his shoulder. Her other hand flicked her cloak aside to show her crossbow hanging from her belt, a silent threat- not to him, but to let him know that she would be looking out for him.  He didn’t even have to look at her face to see her expression- hard, her tiny worried frown creasing her brow and curling her mouth groundwards. Beau had told her, then. Good. Caleb hated not being on the same page.

     The night was quiet and cool.  The moons dipped in and out of visibility behind the rolling clouds, inching their way back to full pearls in the.  The smell of rain breezed past them from a southerly direction. Not-Molly sat three and a half feet away from him, which is three feet more than Molly liked to sit from anyone in their little party.  Caleb hadn’t taken many watches with Mollymauk, but he knew he enjoyed being close, being able to feel another’s body heat, to know that there were others living and existing around him.

     This man who sat by him, bathed in fire’s glow that washed out his normally vibrant skin, seemed like he would rather not acknowledge the existence of others in his vicinity.  His hands sat still in his lap, long bony fingers folded up in a way that reminded Caleb horribly of a dead spider.

     Molly’s hands never looked like that.

     The first hour of their watch passed without incident.  Caleb fidgeted with his diamond, scratched away with his quill at his spellbook, watched the man out of the corner of his eye.  He could have been a sculpture, for all he moved or tried to make conversation. He seemed...not hollow, not unoccupied, but he filled Molly’s skin wrong, used his body to move and speak wrong.  His eyes were full and cold. Caleb couldn’t read them.

     Halfway through the second hour, Caleb couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

     “You-- so, you died.”  Not-Molly blinked, looked up at him.

     “Excuse me?”

     “You died,” Caleb barrelled on, digging the point of the diamond into his palm, “and came back.  What was it like? To be dead?” This wasn’t helpful. If he was going to talk to the impostor, he ought to be gathering information, while he still thought his ruse was working-

     “It was monumentally boring,” He said, moving for the first time to prod the fire.  His tail was looped neatly across his lap, the tip flicking just a bit. “It was boring, and it was forever, and then I felt a pull, and I followed it, and here I am.”

     Okay. Okay, Caleb could work with that.

     “Boring? How do you mean?” He asked, leaning on his elbow in a practised way.  Gods, it had been years since he’d done this, but it was like slipping into an old jacket.  He hated it. But it did have its uses.

     Not-Molly’s pressed his lips together, gazing into the fire.  The tip of his tail went still. “I mean that the afterlife is a place where nothing ever happens.  After that, feeling anything is a welcome change of pace.” He looked suddenly at Caleb, suspicious. “You are awfully curious.”

     “I’ve been accused of that before.” Caleb took a breath, flipped his diamond another time in his hand, and let the magic rise in his throat, coating his vocal cords like a warm drink.  “I am just curious about the afterlife, and you can tell me. It is only a suggestion.”

     For a second, it seemed like it was going to work.

     Not-Molly blinked once, twice, the hard line of his mouth softening.  Then he shuddered and his head whipped towards Caleb, murder in his eyes.

     “ _I_ will not fall victim to your tricks, _mage,_ ” he hissed, baring his fangs. “Do _not_ try that again.”

 _That seals it, then,_ Caleb thought with a sick swoop in his gut.  

     The rest of the watch was spent in silence.

 

* * *

 

     At approximately thirty minutes past two in the morning, Caleb’s alarm spell shocked him awake.  It was never a good way to come to consciousness. He reached for Nott beside him in the dark, ending up patting her whole face and nearly losing a finger for it.  As soon as her lamplight eyes focused enough to read his expression, she settled into the determined goblin that Caleb had broken out of jail with. She scampered out of the tent, light as a feather, and into Jester’s tent.  Caleb crept towards the front, peeking out at Beau and Fjord silhouetted in the light. The sky looked like a pot about to boil, a hot damp wind stirring the embers. He heard a rustling to his right.  
  
_“Caleb, should I wake the impostor, too?”_ , came a shrill, disembodied whisper in his ear. _“You can reply to this message.”_

     Caleb weighed his options- having a loose cannon in a battle who could turn on them at any moment was less than ideal, but having whatever danger that had tripped the alarm wire kill the man in his sleep and any chance they might have of getting Molly back was infinitely worse.

_“Ja, wake him.  Be careful.”_

     As Caleb was finishing his message, a crossbow bolt passed mere inches from his proud nose.  He jolted backwards into the tent as the bolt sank into the wet earth with a horrible _squelch._ Beau whirled around, punched Fjord in the shoulder with one hand and took up her staff in the other.  They stood back-to-back. Caleb crawled out the back of the tent, cursing to himself, and send out his dancing lights.  One hovered to Beau’s left, the rest of them surrounding the perimeter of the camp.

     “Show yourselves!” Beau barked into the night, over the wind.  “We know you’re here!”  
   
     “Wow, Beau, I’m amazed that didn’t work!” Fjord snarked.  There was a whistling sound and suddenly Beau’s hand darted out, snatching another crossbow bolt out of the air that would have found a home in Fjord’s back.    
     “You wanna keep sassin’ me, Fjord? You go right ahead!” she snapped, dropping to the ground as Fjord fired off a bolt of sickly green energy in the direction that the shot came from. There was a strangled noise and a loud thump as someone came falling out of a tree, not five feet away from Caleb.  

     Beau was a blur of blue fabric and dark skin.  She took hits and she kept on going, flinging her throwing stars wherever she heard a noise from the trees.  The biggest challenge was bringing their assailants down- once they were on the ground, she could handle them.  Problem was, they didn’t seem to like being on the ground.

     Fjord and Nott brought them down as best they could.  Nott went for the knees, precise as if she were picking a lock.  

     “I count ten!” She cried over the noise, loosing another bolt at the nearest one.  She missed, cursing, then ducked behind Fjord to reload. “Three o’clock!”

     Caleb sprung to his feet and spun left, a fireball licking over his hands, and loosed it towards the canopy.  It flew just slightly wide of his target, but something behind his target shrieked and gurgled. “Eleven,” He shouted back.  He swung around, scanning the camp. “Where is Jester?”  
  
     “Right here!” Mirror images of their cleric darted out around him, wielding their holy lollipop.  One knelt at the base of the nearest tree and laced her fingers and when the other Jester stepped into the cup of her hands, flung her up and into the branches. She grabbed the stem of her weapon and flipped around it, driving her heels into the bandit’s sternum and sent them flying.  She stuck the landing and threw her arms out like she was the headliner of an acrobatic show.

     The moment Jester’s feet touched the ground, the skies opened up, going from a light sprinkle to a full-on thunderstorm in a matter of seconds.  The fire they had worked so hard to nurse went out with a vicious hiss, steam pouring in a skyward column. The wind and sideways-falling sheets of rain knocked several of the assailants off-balance, forcing them to ground combat.

     The downside was that it doused the firebolts in Caleb’s hands.  It flew in his eyes and his dancing lights sputtered and died as he tried to get his bearings.

     “Caleb?” Beau shouted, “Where’d the lights- _agh!”_

     “ _Beauregard!?_ ” He called back, panic strangling his voice higher.  All he got in response was a groan and a thump- _splash_ and this was the _one thing_ he was good for and all it took was a _fucking thunderstorm_ to render him useless-- He spun blindly, towards what he thought was the sound of her voice-

     Lightning struck in quick succession, painting images in black and white, and in the heartbeat and a half it took for Caleb to process what he was seeing, he wished he hadn’t.

 

  
*  
  
     The man wearing Molly’s body stood against the rain in absolute, terrifying silence.  He was a few feet behind a pair of cloaked assailants, his hands extended, his talons twitching and moving as if he were playing an instrument as one of the fallen assailants seized up, rising mud-soaked from the ground.  Blood dripped down Not-Molly’s arm and stained his shirt where Caleb knew the red eyes were hidden among the ink.

     Another flash- The assailant moved in jerking, undulating motions, like some sort of horrible automaton.  Blood streaked down their face in the rain from their empty eye sockets, and Caleb understood- this was no longer a living threat, and yet, Not-Molly’s arm shot out and the corpse grabbed a blade from their belt.  Their motions were closer to slithering than muscle pulling on bone, Caleb thought he was going to be sick, he couldn’t turn away-  
  
     Another flash.  The puppet drove its blade into its comrade’s throat.  The poor sap had just turned to face them, and then was gurgling on their own blood.  Not-Molly jerked his hand, twisted, squeezed his skeletal fingers into a fist, and--

     The knife in the puppet’s hand corkscrewed into the other’s windpipe and they tried to scream but they couldn’t, blood spraying hot into the rain, clutching weakly at their attacker’s clothes, stop, _stop, they’re dead, they’re dead already, STOP-_

     Another flash.  Not-Molly’s hands dropped.  The two assassins dropped, the puppet falling like its strings had been cut on top of the other in a horrific approximation of an intimate embrace, their head falling on their victim’s chest like a pair of lovers.  The puppet’s victim still gurgled, gasped, and then there was a heeled boot on their throat, pushing, pushing, blood pooling up on the toe, the victim struggled- and then their grasping hands on Not-Molly’s ankle went slack, falling with a limp _slap_ in the mud.  Caleb made the mistake of looking at the impostor’s face in the dying light.

     Even at this distance, he could see the disgusting, delighted grin contorting his pretty features, his forked tongue darting out to lick away the blood streaming like tears.  His short hair was plastered to his face when he turned to look at Caleb, meeting his eyes, and, of all things, _bowing,_ as the light faded; when the next flash of lightning illuminated the clearing, he was gone.  
  
*  
  


     Time went funny, after that.

     The next thing Caleb knew, Jester was at his side, her hands glowing warm and shouting something over her shoulder to Nott, Beau limping in the opposite direction, Jester helping him stand, _come on, Caleb, upsy-daisy,_ Fjord bellowing at Beau, _CHECK THE WESTERN PATH, HE COULD HAVE GONE THAT WAY,_ Beau responding from a million miles away, _I CAN’T TRACK IN THIS RAIN,_ Jester smoothing his hair away from his eyes and kissing his forehead in a way that made him want to cry, everything distant, everything wrapped in cotton.

     His eyes fixed on a point in the trees, he saw the figure approach before anyone else.  Shakily, he raised his hand and pointed, patting Jester’s shoulder to get her attention, and then Nott cried out.

     “Yasha!!”

Everyone went still, turning to Nott and then to the direction she was staring.  

     Yasha, pale and drenched to the bone, sloughed through the ankle-deep mud.  Her facepaint streaked in black lines down her neck. Her cape was plastered to her back, hair clinging in broken-china streaks over her bare shoulders.  Her expression was unreadable, head hung, until she lifted her arm and slung a limp, bedraggled shape into the mud in front of her feet.

     Molly’s body landed face-up with a splash, a nasty bruise forming on his forehead in the scant bit of moonlight that peeked through the clouds.  The only person in the clearing that moved was Yasha, shoulders heaving, her eyes haunted and face drawn. She took a moment to catch her breath.

 

     “What. _Happened.”_

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR- lucien uses "blood curse of the fallen puppet" and kills a bandit horribly by puppeting a dead bandit and caleb sees everything.
> 
> extra special shoutout to cake and charlie for helping me figure out the battle scene- you guys are such angels!! mwah!!


	5. in which lightning strikes twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is late and i have no excuse ;w; plot should pick up next chapter!

     In his short first life, The Nonagon had been many things.

     An abandoned tiefling child without so much as a surname, at first.  Poor as dirt and scrambling to keep himself off death’s doorstep, cursing whoever had the bright idea to get knocked up with him in the first place, or whoever in his family’s line who had decided to screw around with a devil.  Sometimes on bad days, he’d curse both at the same time. He wasn’t picky with his ire.

     Then he was a thief, sticky-fingered and nicking coins and raiding rubbish piles in pigpens for anything suitable to eat, hawking trash he found and minor-illusioned to look halfway decent.  A conman at the tender age of twelve, he learned how people worked. He learned tells, how someone’s throat worked when they were considering a deal he’d made, how to twist their pity in his favour as easily as picking an old lock.  If he could do it well, he could eat. If he couldn’t, his belly went empty. It was an effective motivator.

     His sticky fingers got him noticed by some older thieves, ones who needed someone small like him to wriggle a skinny arm into tight spots, or crawl in under the foundation of a house.  He was particularly good at that. So good, in fact, that he was sent to the High Richter’s estate while she was out at some gala.

 _Lucien,_ they had whispered, _if you do this right, we’ll eat for a month!_

     Little did they know that Lucien didn’t give a rat’s ass if _they_ ate or not.  Food lasted longer if there was only one mouth to fill.

     He took his fill from the house, eating as much as he could stuff his belly with, throwing around dishes and heirlooms.  He filled his pockets with what he could and ran to the guards, his dirty face streaked with practised tears. He fed them a very convincing sob story about some bad people going into the nice Richter’s house, he saw them sneaking away from the front gate from a hole dug under the house!

     The guards had thanked him and run after the thieves, and Lucien got the hell out, pulling the last bit of cured meat from the Richter’s pantry out of his pocket to enjoy.  He hopped into a hay wagon on its way out of town and tallied up the jewelry he’d stolen and never looked back.

     Served them right, for treating him like a child.

     At sixteen, he fell in with another group. He was the youngest by ten years, but they didn’t make him do dirty work on their behalf, so he liked them immediately more.  This group presented him with _opportunities._  This group could take him places, and he liked that even more than he liked not being burdened with dirty work.  All he had to do was swear fealty (with his fingers crossed), promise to show no mercy to the undead, and he was of the Order of the Ghostslayer.  Easiest full belly he’d ever managed.

     A year into his membership, he had climbed the ranks to a comfortable upper middle of the pecking order, gaining the trust of his peers with ease.  The order was secretive and powerful, and Lucien was drunk with possibility. When the leader of their band offered him the potion that would grant him the powers of a fully fledged Bloodhunter, he knocked it back without a second’s hesitation.

     The following week was perhaps the worst of his seventeen years of life.  
It was endless agony, time stretching and warping around him, fever-bright and searing as his blood turned to wine and poison and molten iron as he changed, clawed his talons down to nubs on the stone walls of his cell, bashed his horns into the ground, writhing, laughing, screaming, _anything_ to take his mind away from his boiling innards.

     In his delirium, Lucien dreamt.

     He saw a path to sit above the pantheon of approved gods, the betrayer gods, the gods that only existed in hushed tones and nightmares.  He saw himself above _all_ of them, ruling the insects below, the planes bending to his will, wars fought for his entertainment, mortals vying for his blessing.  He saw reality split into a nine-sided wheel at which he was in the middle. He saw the beginning and the end.

     He saw it, and he wanted it, and so he would have it.  He would never go hungry again.

 _“Hallowed be my name,”_ he mumbled with bloody lips,  and collapsed into a heap.

     When he woke again, he began to formulate a plan.

 

* * *

 

     That was the first-worst pain he had ever woken up to.  His entire body ached as if he’d been run over by the King’s hunt.  It took him three days to be able to leave the bed he had woken up in, his head splitting right between his horns.

     This was nowhere near that day, but he did hate to wake up with his hands bound.  Very inconvenient.

     The first thing he registered was the voices, the same as his second awakening.  Jester, high and panicky, somewhere to his front left. His head throbbed with her whining.  He carefully did not grit his teeth or shift to block his ear with his shoulder.

     “ -don’t understand! We did everything right!! The diamond and the offerings and the- the, the chant, and I copied the runes down _perfectly,_ Caleb checked them-”

     “No one’s blamin’ you, Jes, but we have a _situation-”_ The next voice was an honest-to-gods _growl._

     “None of you have told me what’s _fucking_ happening.  Someone better speak up in the next _ten seconds-_ ” That must have been the big woman from earlier.  The Nonagon cursed himself in silence. He hadn’t expected her to materialize from the trees like a poltergeist and bash him into the ground.   _That must be Yasha,_ he reasoned.

     “Yash, we’re trying to figure it- _ugh, fuck, ow-_ ” came Beau’s gruff voice from his other side, sliding halfway into a groan and then soothing from the big woman, _hold still, let me see._  Nauseating.

     The goblin had the most annoying voice out of anyone by far, even more so than the tiefling woman.  Sharp enough to strike him at the origin of his headache. He had to really concentrate to keep his tail from lashing in pain.

     “Beau, sit down, you took a lot of damage,” she screeched, grating like a blade against bone.  In that moment, The Nonagon wanted nothing more than for her to drop dead where she stood. “All we know is that Molly wasn’t the one we resurrected. We’ve got nothin’ else!”

     Molly, Molly, _Molly_ . Molly this, Molly that.  The Nonagon was sick of _two_ things now- the goblin’s caterwauling, and the name ‘Molly’.  He would strike them from the world, once he took his rightful place.

     The voices continued to squabble, and yet he didn’t hear the dirty mage who had tried to get his grubby hands around his mind.  The Nonagon couldn’t _stand_ uppity spellslingers.  Three things to strike, then.   _I ought to keep a list,_ he thought absently.  Mages were about as useful as gnats swarming a carcass.

     The Nonagon cracked an eye open.  From his sore buttocks and the texture pressed against his cheek, he seemed to be tied up in the rickety cart the group travelled in.  The rain had petered out to only a drizzle here and there. The fire pit still steamed. The Nonagon resisted curling his lip- the assassins that attacked them wouldn’t have been the only ones around.  The cloud would be visible for miles around. Of all the idiots in Wildemount to get stuck with-

 _Well, it’s not all bad,_ he reasoned with himself, closing his eye again.   _Maybe they’ll manage to get killed and I can get on with my life._

     The minutes stretched on, more bickering and attempts to explain the situation to Yasha.  At one point, she grabbed at the neck of Fjord’s armor, slamming him against a tree and speaking low and angry in his face before she was pulled away.  Unfortunately, she didn’t kill him. Shame, that.

     Finally, The Nonagon became bored.  He pretended to wake, sitting up as gracefully as he could manage with his hands behind his back, and waited for someone to notice.  He saw the mage at the fringes of the group, arguing in hushed tones with the half-orc, his arms tucked tightly to his sides, hands curled into stiff claws.  He’d survived, then.

     The mage gestured sharply towards the cart and took his eyes away from Fjord’s collarbone- he didn’t seem to meet anyone’s eyes on purpose- and jumped when he saw The Nonagon sitting upright, observing the goings-on. The Nonagon grinned too widely, and just to get a rise, bowed his head at the ginger.  With his eyes so wide and hunted and his brown clothes indistinguishable from the mud, he looked like a drowned rat.

     He smacked Fjord’s breastplate.  Fjord followed his gaze to The Nonagon and his brow creased.  The grey streaks in his hair were plastered to his forehead.

     “Hey- he’s awake,” Fjord said, loud.  The others fell silent, all six of their heads whipped in the direction of the cart.  Yasha’s fist clenched where she held Beau’s waist.

     “Kind of you to notice, finally.  Are you all done arguing? I have a splitting headache.” The Nonagon drawled.

     “I don’t _care_ about your _headache,_ you shitball!” The blue tiefling cried, going rather purple in the cheeks, her face pinched and her fangs bared.  Her tail swished furiously. “Who are you and where’s our Molly! What did you do to him!”  
“I have never met this Molly, but I am already tired of him,” The Nonagon spat back with a grin, enjoying her indignant shriek.

     “You stole his body!! You have no _right-_ ”

     “ _Do not lecture me about bodysnatching,_ **_girl,_ ** _”_ The Nonagon hissed, the Infernal making the rain around him sizzle.  The other members of the party winced, the goblin and the mage and the monk covering their ears.  Yasha held Beau tighter, tucking her head to her broad chest. _“Your sweet Molly stole_ **_my_ ** _body from_ **_me._ ** _Your Molly stole years of my life and I will have_ **_retribution._ ** _”_

     The mage had blood trickling through his fingers from his ears.  

     “STOP IT,” Jester howled, stomping her foot with a squelch in the mud.  Her dress was already ruined with all sorts of mess. The Nonagon cackled as she marched up to the cart with a truly furious expression.  She scruffed him as easily as a mother cat would scruff an unruly kitten and pinned him one-handed to a nearby tree, completely ignoring the corpses of the assassins in the slop.  “SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT _UP!”_

     “You- You are not- Oh my Gods, you are _not_ making it easy! Are you angry, sweetheart? Are you _mad?”_ He managed between hysterical giggles.  Jester dropped him and landed a swift kick to his midsection.  He just laughed harder and more breathless with every kick. She only landed about three until Caleb tried to tow her away.  He certainly wasn’t strong enough, mages just weren’t strong physically, but at some point Jester’s eyes had welled over. She turned and buried her face in the mage’s filthy wet coat.  Her hands clutched at his lapels. He shushed her, his eyes fixed on the blood at the corner of The Nonagon’s mouth.

     “I want _Molly,_ give him _back,”_ she shuddered, her voice dripping acid.  She turned in Caleb’s arms to face The Nonagon.  Her ears were pressed flat against her head. If The Nonagon were a lesser tiefling, he might have considered being intimidated.  Instead, he tilted his head like Jester were an especially stubborn toddler throwing a tantrum. “What did you _do_ to him, give him _back!”_

     “What do you think I’ll do,” He taunted, “Pull him from behind a tree? I do not _have_ him anywhere, you stupid child!”

_“I am not a CHILD!”_

_“JESTER.”_ Beau barked, startling Jester out of her tirade. She whirled on Beau, ready to scream at her too, but the fight drained out of her as soon as she took in her expression.  Beau looked furious, but...guilty, more than anything. Cornered. Exhausted, with her injured leg tucked up and letting Yasha support her on the uninjured side. “Take a walk.”  
  
     “But--”  
  
     “Take a _walk,_ Jester. _”_ It wasn’t a question.  Jester slumped and backed out of Caleb’s loose embrace. “Nott, go with her?”

     “I just said I’m not a _child,_ Beau, I don’t need a fucking _babysitter._ ”  Jester seethed.  She strode out into the forest.  Nott looked anxiously between them, then to Caleb, who shrugged subtly.  She glanced around again.

     “I’ll just- I’ll just be in her general vicinity.”  With that, she picked her way through the mud after Jester.  The Nonagon’s laughter petered out into silence again, the patter of rain filling the tense space.  He grinned at each of them.

     “Really, what do you think I can do? I am no cleric.  I’m unable to resurrect the dead. I certainly will not turn over my own damn body to someone to invade again.”  His tail swished irately. It was the only part of him that moved.

     He was met with silence.  That, in particular, irritated him more than the goblin, the mage, and their Molly _combined._  He cracked his tail like a whip against the side of the cart.

     “Well?”

     More silence.

_“WELL?”_

     The Nonagon rose to his feet.  His belly ached where Jester had struck him.  Blood dripped down his chin. He let the tree behind him support his weight.  The grind of the bark on his horns sent unpleasant shudders into his skull. It helped him focus.

     “...You really have no idea what you are trying to do.”  He shook his head, incredulous. “I have met many lost souls, but you are all by _far_ the most lost.”  He pushed off the tree, taking a few staggering steps forward.  Caleb’s hands dropped into spellcasting position, Fjord’s hand went to the empty sheath at his hip.  “If we have no business to conduct, I will take my leave of you. I am behind schedu-”

     Yasha’s enormous mitt was around his horn faster than he thought she could move.  He snarled viciously as she yanked him back, his headache sparking down his spinal column.  

     “Oh, come ON,” he yowled.  Her hand didn’t loosen when he thrashed, his tail smacking at the backs of her knees.  The woman was sturdy as a mountain. “Do you even know what you want to do? No! I can do nothing for you!”

     “On the contrary,” Caleb interjected, his voice soft and dangerous.  The Nonagon glanced in his direction as best he could with his horn in Yasha’s hand. Caleb walked closer, cautious, but with a new look in his deep-set eyes.  Like someone who had a plan. “You could be useful to us.”  
Beau shifted.  She was favouring her injured leg, one of her sashes wrapped around her broad upper thigh.  She leaned on her staff, knuckles white and streaked pink with watered-down blood.

     “Caleb,” she said, “Be careful.  He’s not worth- He’s not worth it.”

     Caleb didn’t turn around.  

     “You are Lucien, aren’t you?” He asked.  The Nonagon scoffed.

     “Not to _you_ , I’m not.”

     “So, Lucien,” Caleb continued, completely unbothered.  The Nonagon snarled. “What can you tell us about your group? The, ah, the Tomb-Takers, was it?”  Clearly, The Nonagon needed to re-evaluate how much of a threat this man posed to him.

     “...We were a splinter group from the Order of the Ghostslayer.” Fjord and Beau looked at each other, in the corner of The Nonagon’s sight.  What did they know about it? “...We hunted down the undead.”  
  
     Caleb narrowed his eyes. “You know a lot about death, then? The moment of, the actual process of dying?” He circled closer.  Yasha didn’t allow The Nonagon to follow Caleb completely. “I have read that your kind sit by the dying and even try for near-death themselves, just to get a taste for the afterlife and understand their prey a little better.  Is that what happened? You died, flying too close for the Raven Queen’s taste, so She plucked you out of the air?” He seemed almost to be talking to himself, more than The Nonagon. “She, of all deities, does not take kindly to mortals cheating death.”

     The Nonagon opened his mouth to answer, and then shut it.

     He had an idea.

 

* * *

 

     In the copse of trees just past the clearing, Jester paced furiously, her hands bunching and unbunching her skirt.  Nott watched her from her perch on a large boulder, glancing up from time to time to make sure they weren’t being surrounded.  They were all still soaked to the bone and miserable. Nott had taken off her outer robes and lain them out as flat as she could- no sense in catching a cold on top of everything else.

     She was hurt that Caleb hadn’t come to her right away.  Of course she was. She understood why Beau had told them one by one, she really did, but the idea that Caleb couldn’t tell her something made her throat tight.  

     “Take a _walk,_ Jester, she says,” Jester grumbled under her breath, “well, Beau, I am taking a walk and it is fixing _zero_ of the things that need to be fixed right now!  How’s that working out for you?”

     “ ‘Scuse me?” Nott asked, cocking her head.  Jester waved her off.

     “I am talking to myself, Nott, but also I am fine, and I don’t need you to babysit me.  You are my good friend but I am a grown up woman and I can handle myself.”  
  
     “Okay, yes, that’s fair,” Nott started. “I have some whiskey, if you want some to warm up from the rain?”  Jester paused for a moment, considered, then left her well-worn tracks to cross over to Nott. Before Nott could stop her, she grabbed the flask and fumbled the lid off.  With a glance back towards the clearing that she had stormed away from, she tossed the flask back.

     She barely managed to swallow the mouthful that she had before a violent coughing fit overtook her.  Nott jumped up to help as a little of the whiskey dribbled down her bodice. Nott patted at it with the corner of her bandages.

     And then the spluttering turned to sniffles.

     “Oh no,” said Nott, “Oh no, Jester, no, it’s okay, I promise! You just weren’t expecting the flask to be so full, it’s more something you sip-”

     “Not that,” Jester hiccoughed, shaking her head.  She collapsed on the boulder next to Nott and buried her face in Nott’s neck.  Nott’s arms went around her on instinct. She felt her shoulder grow hot and even more damp and oh, no, it wasn’t the whiskey, was it?

     Nott knew lots of types of crying.  Crying from physical pain, crying from fear, crying from grief.  They all sounded slightly different, made people curl up in their own ways.  Crying from guilt was one of Nott’s least favourite kinds of crying, and it sounded so deeply _wrong_ coming from Jester.  She swayed the tiefling gently side to side. Jester clung to her like she was drowning.

     “It didn’t work, Nott, I messed it up-The Traveller said he- said I--”

     “Hey, it’s alright,” she soothed, stroking Jester’s curly head.  She sobbed bitterly, shuddering all over. It broke Nott’s heart with every inhale.  Jester had never cried in earnest like this in front of her- or any of their party, as far as she knew. “It’s okay, Jes-”

     “But it’s _not_ okay!” She cried, shaking her head.  Her horn bumped against Nott’s skull. “It’s not okay, nobody knows how to fix it, we lost Molly and it’s _all my fault!”_  She withdrew from Nott’s embrace and put her face in her hands, doubling over into her own lap.  

     Nott went to pet her back in what she hoped was a soothing way and faltered, her claws an inch away.  She wasn’t sure what to do, not really- when Caleb woke up in tears from a nightmare, it was best to let him bring himself back.  She would press her back warmly against his calf and he would poof Frumpkin into his arms, rock and mumble to himself for a bit, then pull out his book and read until sunrise.  Every so often he would touch the top of her head, as if reassuring himself she was there, or lay his hand on her shoulder for the span of a few breaths. She always made sure to breathe especially deeply then.

     Jester was not Caleb.

     “You couldn’t have known,” Nott said instead, twisting her hands together in her lap. “There was no way you could have known.”

     “Beau knew,” Jester countered, muffled in her soaked apron, “Caleb knew, _you_ knew, Fjord knew!  Everybody except _me._ Do you know how that makes me feel?”

     Nott winced. “...Pretty bad.”  
  
     “Pretty bad is right.”  The venom was gone from her voice.  It hurt to listen to. Nott folded her hands, unfolded them, refolded them.  When Jester spoke again, she sounded small. “Can I have a hug, please?”

     Nott was happy to oblige.

 

* * *

 

     “No, I imagine the Raven Queen was not pleased with me,” The Nonagon replied, shrugging.  “I’ve never been too concerned about it. Your Molly, however…”

     Caleb didn’t react in a way most people would catch.  The Nonagon picked it up only in a small lapse in Caleb’s cold, professional facade.  A slight hitch of breath, a dilation of the pupils. A new tremor in his hands that could be attributed to his soaked clothes and hair, or to the information The Nonagon was dangling in front of him like bread over a starving man’s head. “What about my- our Molly?”

_Like a fish on a hook._

     “Well, you say he inhabited my body for a time.  If you ever-so-kindly resurrected me, where do you think your Molly went?”  He let Caleb squirm for a few seconds. With a few words, he had completely turned this interrogation in his favour. “Do you have an idea?”

     “I- You are insinuating that Molly is in the astral plane?” Caleb asked.  The Nonagon smiled unkindly.

     “Good boy.” Caleb winced. “But not quite.  All I am saying is that the Raven Queen presides over the moment of death.  If anyone knows where your Molly is, it would be Her.” The Nonagon wriggled his numb fingers.  “Now, Yasha-”

     She shoved him down by his horn.  He landed hard on his ass in the mud.  Not exactly what he had in mind, but it was an improvement to being manhandled, as she leaned over him, for all the world looking like an angel of death.

     “Stay down.” She growled, wiping her hand on her shirt.  She stepped over him, towards Beau, Fjord and Caleb. The Nonagon laid back, hissing through his teeth frustratedly.

     “I meant, ‘Yasha, cut these gods damned ropes from my wrists, I am unable to feel my fingers, but alright,” He called.  None of them paid any attention. Not that it mattered- he already got what he wanted. All he needed to do was wait for the seed of hope to grow in them, and he could make his escape and get his plans back on track.

     It was good to know that all his skills were still sharp.

 

 

* * *

 

 

     Caleb brought his cupped hands to his mouth, murmuring a message to Nott.  He followed Yasha’s lead over to Beau and Fjord, standing by the stump Yasha had set her on when she went to grab Lucien.  Caleb’s head swam.

     “Did you- Did you get all that?” he hissed to the group, eyes darting between them in the dark.  His hand delved into his pocket for his spellcasting diamond, turning it over and over.

     “Yeah, we got the gist of whatever bullshit he was spouting,” Beau shot back, “I don’t believe him as far as I can throw him, and I know you didn’t either.”  The darkvision-goggles reflected his own angry eyes back at him. “Oh, Caleb, you don’t _really-”_

     I would love to hear any other ideas!” He interrupted.  “Go on, tell us where _you_ think Mollymauk has gone, since you know, apparently.”  She opened her mouth to argue back when Fjord clapped a hand on her shoulder and held the other in front of Caleb.

     “Stop it, both of you.  This ain’t gonna help us find him any quicker!” He looked Caleb in the eye, and Caleb found himself staring between Fjord’s brows.  “Caleb. What do you think, is there any merit to what he said?”

     Caleb’s gut twisted.

     “I- I am not sure,” he started, his gaze dropping to Fjord’s collarbone, “I mean- it could have? I don’t know where else his soul would have gone besides there, if he died when those phantoms attacked us on the road- it could be something-”  
  
     “How do we know that this guy’s cronies didn’t sabotage this whole thing?” Beau burst out, flinging an arm in Lucien’s direction behind Caleb and Yasha.  “He said he was Order of the Ghostbuster-”

     “Ghostslayer,” Caleb corrected, “And that-”  
  
     “Whatever! They _know how ghosts work,_ Caleb,” she continued, “If we go on his word, alone, without knowing whether or not that tabaxi that works with the Gentleman set this up to try and get him back- how do we know-”

     “We _don’t_ know-”  
  
     “Exactly! We can’t go barging in-”

     “-Which I recall being _your_ specialty, Beauregard-”

     “You must be _really_ fucking stupid-”

     “ _Shut up,_ ” Caleb snarled, “I’m not stupid, I’m desperate! Don’t you want him back too?”

     “What’s the difference between desperate and stupid when we’re going to take the word of an undead blood-magic cult leader as if it’s fact!” Her lip curled, showing her bloody teeth. “We don’t know what he’s capable of, we, we don’t know _anything-_ ”  

     Beau winced, suddenly.  Her fingers dug into the bandage around her leg, seemingly without her realising it.  Blood soaked through the scrap of fabric and pooled under her nails. She hissed through her teeth, sticking her fingers in her mouth.  Yasha reached over when Beau let her hand fall, lacing their fingers together.  
  
     “Don’t do that,” she said, low and soft.  
  
     “Sorry.” Beau muttered back, tightening her grip.  
  
      Caleb took a breath, held it, released it.  Twice. Three times. The rush of blood in his ears receded.

     Just then, Fjord looked up, over Caleb’s head.  Nott and Jester emerged from the woods, Jester looking decidedly cried-out and Nott looking grim.  Neither girl looked at Lucien where he sat, fuming in the muck.

     Nott tugged on Caleb’s coat when they reached the group, anxiety plain on her face.  “You didn’t answer when I messaged you back.”

     “Apologies, my friend.” He said gently, “We are discussing the situation and we needed you both here.” He made a point to look at Jester.  She lifted her hand in a half-hearted little wave. He waved back.

     Caleb told them what Lucien had told him, ending in another quarrel.  Nott took his side, of course, and Beau wouldn’t let go of her suspicion of Lucien, of course.  

     Finally, Jester piped up. “Why don’t I just use my truth spell?”

     Beau’s mouth closed so quickly her teeth clicked.

     “Would that work for you, Beau?” Fjord asked, sighing with relief when she eventually nodded.

     The one that stopped them this time, surprisingly, was Yasha.

     “Listen,” she said.  She had a way of commanding attention, even when she was speaking softly enough to miss it if you breathed too loudly.  “I have known Molly his entire life. I can assure you, if he had a chance to do anything except die, he would have. He’s terrified to die.  He wouldn’t even go into a _temple_ of the Raven Queen if he had a way out of it, and he _always_ found a way out of it.”    
  
     Her gaze was distant.  Beau squeezed her hand.  She returned the motion. “If he- If he had found a way out of it this time, he would have let us know by now, y’know?  I think this guy might be onto something.” She casted a glance over her shoulder to Lucien. “Besides, every good lie has a little truth in the center.  I think this is the center.”

     Jester twirled her long sleeve around her finger. Fjord chewed his lip, Caleb flipped his diamond anxiously, Nott picked at her bandages.

     Finally, Beau sighed and stood, leaning on her staff. “Okay. Let’s put it to a vote. Everyone for listening to the body-snatching maniac, hands up.”

     Yasha, Caleb, Nott, and Jester put their hands up.  Beau sighed again.

     “Okay, then. Our funeral, I guess.”  She glanced up at the dispersing clouds, the barest touches of light seeping into the eastern sky. “It’s late. I’m fucking exhausted.  I’m going to bed.” She lurched towards the tents, letting her hand fall out of Yasha’s grasp, leaning heavily on her staff. Lucien watched her go like a hound who had spotted injured prey.    
  
     “I’ll take watch.” Yasha said.  She looked around. “The rest of you, go sleep.  I can handle the next few hours.”

     The rest of the Mighty Nein filtered into their tents, murmuring their goodnights to Yasha.  Caleb snapped his fingers, and Frumpkin hopped into Yasha’s arms. She smiled faintly, despite herself.  When she turned to face the threat that had wormed his way into her little family, he was out cold. Just as well.  She wasn’t much for conversation. She sat in the back of the cart with a lapful of warm cat, sharpening her sword, and tried her best not to think about the situation at hand. Not yet.

     The dawn approached, bloodred.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big big shoutout to charlie for helping me bust this thing out finally <3


	6. in which the impossible is sought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh, ep 26! what the fuck!
> 
> i was planning to upload this on sunday, but uh. then thursday happened and it hit at a really bad personal time. i couldn't bear to look at the doc for this until yesterday. apologies for that.
> 
> i wanna take a sec to reiterate that this fic is going to end happy, with a living, happy, whole mollymauk at the end. i can't do sad hopeless endings. theres enough of that irl. please take care of urselves reading and watching and like...just in general. mwah.
> 
> i'm so blessed that this story gained traction the way it has, and i'm so lucky i have so many positive voices around me helping with this story. this chapter is dedicated to you, reader. 
> 
> what do we say to the raven queen? not today.

_      The garden is warm and lush this time of year.  Caleb finds himself recounting the steps in his head- two-thousand thirty-some through the small maze, from the fountain to the entrance.  The air is heavy with strains of music and the clean scent of vegetation. His dress uniform is starched and spotless and- amazingly, it fits right, hanging sharply from his narrow shoulders.  He and Wulf grew out of their uniforms so often, with their frequent growth spurts, it was difficult for the tailors to keep up.  _

_      Speaking of which, Wulf must be looking for him- Astrid too, if he had taken a moment to himself in the garden to gather his wits.  He checks his reflection in the fountain- his face in the water is small, bright, hopeful, with a dusting of freckles across his round cheeks and beaky nose.  His hair is combed carefully back and he knows where he is- King Dwendal’s anniversary gala at the summer palace, a few months before Caleb’s seventeenth birthday.  Caleb smudges a stray touch of kohl into place around his eye, adjusts his binder, and sets off down the path towards the music. _

_      The maze is laughably easy to navigate- it wouldn’t do to have the king’s drunken guests getting themselves too lost.  Two lefts and a right and straight on to the back plaza, where ladies sipped drinks and kicked off their shoes for a moment before diving back into the party, and- _

_      A huge peacock wanders out onto the path, appearing as if from thin air.  Its body gleams blue-violet in the lanternlight, its tail speckled red and green.  Its presence gave Caleb pause- the king hated birds unless they were on his dinner plate.  _

_      “Shoo, go on,” he says, edging around it.  The bird’s eyes follow him, glinting like rubies.  “Get out of here before you’re caught.” The bird doesn’t move. “Suit yourself, then,” he sighs, and hurries up the gilded marble stairs, the click of his boots echoing over the garden. _

_      He weaves between ladies in suits and gowns and all manner of finery- the plaza is lit with dancing lights, attendant mages keeping the spell up and keeping up with orders for drinks and  _ _ hors d'oeuvres- he ducks under a tray, around the laughter and conversation and up to an open stone archway overgrown with peonies- he doesn’t remember peonies at the summer palace- through the organza curtains floating on the breeze, and the ballroom is before him. _

_      Low golden light embraces Caleb as he ducks into the fray. For the most exclusive party of the year, there are so many people that it’s hard to maneuver.  He keeps an eye out for Astrid’s short black hair and broad shoulders, the ever-so-slightly pointed tips of Eodwulf’s ears and his elegant hands, and- there, just a few feet out of earshot, Astrid kissing the hand of some noble’s daughter and Wulf engaging an old artificer in polite conversation, fixing the flowers in his flaxen hair.  All Caleb has to do is make it over there. _

_      There is a light tap at his shoulder.  Caleb turns to see who touched him. _

_      Mollymauk stands before him.  His eyes are lined with kohl and practically glowing scarlet, long lashes curled and fanned prettily over his cheeks.  His raven curls cascade over his bare shoulders, the sheer fabric of his tunic glittering with crystals. His tattoos seem to shift and move, red eyes winking out from the inkwork as he extends his hand to Caleb.  His tail sweeps the long train of his sash to the side, and he dips into an extravagant, flourishing bow. _

_      “Dance with me, sweetheart?” _

_      Caleb is helpless to refuse him. _

_      He realizes as Molly leads him effortlessly to the dance floor that he’s changed- he stands taller now, the prickle of his beard plain on his face.  His uniform is different now- that of an esteemed warmage, white with gold trim and braid, medals gleaming on his chest, white cloak trimmed with plush sable fur.  His hair is long again, auburn waves clean and swept into a ponytail at the base of his skull. Molly pulls Caleb flush against his chest, winds a hand around his waist and holds Caleb’s hand in the other, slightly away from their bodies.  Caleb settles his other hand on Molly’s warm shoulder, soft as silk under his calloused and burn-scarred palm. _

_      “How did you get here?” Caleb asks, as the music slows.  Around them, couples begin to sway cheek-to-cheek, less of a dance and more of an embrace.  Molly’s painted lips quirk upwards at the corners. _

_      “It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure.” He takes the lead.  He’s an excellent dancer. It would be so easy for Caleb to follow, to enjoy this, and yet… _

_     “But- Mollymauk, you’re not supposed to  _ be  _ here,” he insists.  With the shoes Molly is wearing and the fact that Caleb is standing tall in his adult body, they’re about the same height.  Molly’s horns are draped with gold chains that catch the light just so. _

_      “No, I suppose I’m not meant to be here.  But here I am, so you had better pay attention, Mr. Caleb.”  His breath is warm and tastes like iron on Caleb’s lips. “I haven’t much time.” _

_      “What do you mean? Molly, where are you?” _

_      “One for sorrow,” Molly says, “Two for joy.  Three for a girl, four for a boy.” He spins Caleb in a circle, the floating lights blurring on the edge of his vision.   _

_      “Five for silver, six for gold,” Caleb recites back.  He knows this rhyme like he knows the woods behind his childhood home. _

_      “Seven for a secret, never to be told.”  Molly leans his cheek against Caleb’s scruff, the cool curve of his horn pressed to the corner of Caleb’s mouth.  His heart pounds against Molly’s still chest.  _

_      “Eight for a wish.” Caleb continues. Molly leans back, unlacing their fingers, and tucks a stray curl behind Caleb’s ear. Caleb shivers. _

_      “Nine for a kiss,” he breathes, their noses brushing together.  They’re the only ones in the room. The music dies slowly away. Molly leans in. _

_      “And ten for a bird you mustn’t miss.”  _

 

 

 

     Suddenly the world jolted sharply to the left and Caleb sat directly up in the cart, heart pounding.   Nott leaned over him, eyes wide with concern. The sky was bright blue above her head.  
  
     “Are you alright? Bad dream?” she asked.

     Caleb shook his head. He could still smell Molly’s perfume and the warmth of his skin under his hands.  His lips buzzed.

     “I... I am fine, Nott. Just startled.  I’ll be fine.” His neck ached when he knelt up to take in his surroundings.  A warm breeze lifted his hair as he rose, carrying the scent of a more bustling town- fresh bread, animal smell and manure, woodsmoke, all of them mixing with the lingering memory of sandalwood and peonies.  Caleb shook his head to clear it.

     “Good morning, Cay-leb!” Jester sing-songed from the driver’s bench.  That was heartening to hear- grief sat on her shoulders like an ill-fitting coat.  He raised a hand to wave at her. She wiggled her claw-tipped fingers back at him. He stuck his head out over the edge of the cart a bit to look at the path. “Sorry to wake you up so roughly, but it technically is more afternoon than morning, so it’s about time.”

     The gates of Kamordah were close, maybe another thirty minutes by cart. Yasha walked behind the cart, Beau and Fjord walked a bit ahead, along with- Caleb’s stomach swooped low- Lucien.  

     Even watching him from a distance, Caleb couldn’t believe he fell for the act, even for a minute.  Molly was so completely, entirely different from this man on every conceivable level. If Lucien was a drizzly, miserable, sunless winter, then Molly was the first rush of spring, the first day warm enough to go out without a coat, the promise of flowers to bloom and celebrations to come and-

     “...finally in a town with a _bath-house,_ won’t that be a nice change?  I’ve been meaning to treat my hair for _ages,_ it’s gotten all dry and brittle.”  
“I think your hair’s fine,” Caleb murmured back, embarrassed at himself for waxing poetic while Jester was trying to hold a conversation with him.  He was trying to do that less.

     “Well, thank you, but also I like to look my best and smell my best, no offense,” she rattled on, “and it has been  _ way _ too long.  When you look nice, you feel nice! That’s what my mom says.”

     Caleb huffed a breath that Jester knew was his version of laughing. “No offense taken.”

 

 

 

     The city was bustling in the early afternoon sunshine.  As the crowd started to condense, those who weren’t riding in the cart drew nearer.  Apparently, for the few hours Caleb had been asleep, Beau had nearly knocked Lucien out a total of eight times.  

     “Would have been a lot less if Fjord hadn’t kept catching my fuckin’ staff,” was all Beau had to say on the subject.  Fjord took deep breaths.

     Lucien looked...different.  Now that he wasn’t masquerading as Molly, he let his cunning show on his face and how he studied everyone passing them by, sizing them up.  It was similar to the way Fjord people-watched, if Fjord had a more starved-animal look about him while he did it. As they had approached civilization, they had decided to unbind Lucien’s hands. They didn’t have time for people asking questions.  

     After an hour of riding around in the midday sun, the Mighty Nein found themselves at a passable tavern-  _ The Wandering Mermaid,  _ the hand-painted sign proclaimed in loud script.  Nott collapsed into a booth, holding her mask away from her mouth in the dark.  Caleb sat between her and the rest of the clientele. There weren’t a lot of people who looked like they were paying attention, seeking their own respite from the heat, but he and Nott hadn’t survived as long as they had by being careless.

     “It’s too hot,” she complained, fanning herself under the mask with her robe.  Caleb loosened his scarf sympathetically. “There’s so many  _ people _ here, it’s making me twitchy.”

     “I know,  _ schatz,  _ it’s not ideal.”  He glanced around the tavern again. Yasha was getting drinks from a flustered looking human barmaid who had to crane her neck to make eye contact.  Beau was keeping an eye on their uninvited guest near the door with a scowl that could curdle milk, and Fjord looked like he was working his charm on the older gnome gentleman who seemed to run the establishment.  

     They congregated back at the table Nott had staked out.  Jester bounced over from another table, happily informing them that the bath-house was only a ten minute walk from the Wandering Mermaid.  

     “The lady over there said that the Raven Queen’s temple isn’t much farther, either.” she said, sobering slightly.  “We should probably...we should check that out, shouldn’t we?”

     “Wonderful,” Lucien piped up, from between Fjord and Beau.  “I can do the talking-”

     “Oh no, you don’t.” Fjord rumbled, his brow creasing. “You’re stayin’ put.”  Lucien huffed, crossing his arms tight over his chest. Beau appraised him, cracking her knuckles idly.

     “You’re awful eager, all of a sudden.” She commented. “Any reason for that, or you just find some helpful urges buried deep, deep,  _ deep  _ down?” Lucien glared right back at her. 

     “The sooner you get your answer, the sooner I can be rid of you all.”

     “I think you’re confused, shitswallow, you’re not getting rid of us anytime soon.” she growled.  Jester bumped her shoulder into Beau’s.

     “It’s okay, Beau.” She turned back to the group at large. “How are we splitting up, if he’s not coming with us?” 

     “I don’t wanna go to the temple.” Beau offered. “It’s creepy, and, uh.  Talking ain’t exactly my strong suit. Should you go, Jes? You are a cleric and all.”  Jester nodded.

     “I was planning on it, yeah.  And plus, I have more pamphlets to leave!” she added with a grin. “Fjord, Caleb, I think you guys should come with me.” Caleb startled a little.

     “Why me?” He asked.

     “Because you are really good at talking, when you want to be! And, you know, if you’re with us, you can do your magic and distract people if we need you to.  Plus you need the sunshine, you get grumpy if you’re inside for too long, and you’re always grumpy.”

     “Maybe it’s not the inside that makes me grumpy.” Caleb retorted.  Fjord thought about the proposition and nodded. 

     “Yeah, I’d be down to do some digging.  I’m curious, anyhow. If we have to sit around anymore, I’m gonna get cabin fever.” Jester grinned, tapping Fjord with her tail on his shoulder.  
  
     “Ooh, a church date! How proper of you!” Fjord grinned, despite himself, and smothered it in his palm.  Caleb couldn’t be sure, with the lack of pupils in those ruby-red pools, but he thought he caught Lucien rolling his eyes.

     Yasha spoke up.  “I’ll go, too.” Beau looked over at her, watching her absently braid a lock of her hair. No one argued with her.  

     “If Caleb is going, I’ll stay back,” said Nott.  Caleb felt his stomach twist a little at the thought of leaving her with Lucien, after the horrific display back in the woods, and peered down at her with his brow furrowed. He knew she could handle herself, logically, and yet...

     “You are sure?” Nott patted his hand reassuringly. 

     “Yes, I’m sure.” She glanced at Lucien across the table.  “If he tries anything funny, I can let you know. Plus you can alarm the room and we can all be double-sure.”

     “Yes, yes, leave the only person who knows anything about the Raven Queen back to be babysat by a woman who wants me dead and a  _ goblin,”  _ Lucien sneered. “Surely, that’s the best course of action.” Yasha rose quickly to her impressive height and loomed over the table, her long hair nearly dipping into the mugs of cool ale.

     “Beau isn’t the only one who wants you dead,” she said, soft-voiced, “And I’ll thank you to keep your comments about our little friend to a minimum. Is that  _ fucking  _ clear.”

     Lucien looked rather unruffled. “Is that a threat, beautiful?” He asked, airy and conversational.  Yasha stared him down.

     “No. It’s a promise.”

     Nott flushed, tucking herself against Caleb’s side.  He put his arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to...” Nott mumbled into Caleb’s coat.  Yasha didn’t break her gaze at Lucien.

     “I know.”

     A few tense moments passed, the dull roar of the patrons surrounding the party’s table, until Lucien caved, tossing his head imperiously and sighing through his teeth.   “You all have  _ something _ better to do than throw your weight around, I’m sure.”

     Yasha smiled to herself and exited the booth.  Caleb slid out after her, with Nott in tow. Beau took the liberty of finishing everyone’s mead before she and Nott disappeared upstairs, Nott twirling the room key on its ring around her slim finger.  Lucien went without much trouble. Caleb followed them and wound his silver thread around the room, enjoying Beau and Nott’s idle chatter while he worked. Lucien perched on the wooden chair in the corner and seethed quietly.  Caleb kissed Nott on the head before he went back downstairs.

     As they filed out of the pub, Jester looping her arm through Fjord’s, Caleb bumped his shoulder against Yasha’s arm.

     “Well played, big woman. I think I saw him tuck his tail between his legs.” She grinned down at him, rare and warm, and the four of them stepped into the sunlight.

 

* * *

 

     The temple of the Raven Queen, as it turned out, was a small wooden structure by the city’s graveyard.  There was a large yard surrounding it. The path changed from cobblestone to packed dirt to gravel, and as they passed through the low fence towards the front doors, runes flared in the grain of the wood.  Caleb was taken aback once he recognized them, from a book he had thumbed through ages ago in Zadash- powerful protective wards to prevent the dead from rising. Old, yes, but potent. As they passed into their range, he felt the soft pressure of it like cotton stuffing in his ears.

     “Very impressive,” he murmured under his breath.

     As they came to the front steps of the building, low stone slabs with the edges worn smooth by time and footsteps, Jester made a confused noise.

     “There’s no handles or knockers or anything.” She commented, her tail swishing curiously.  

     “Maybe we should have made an appointment?” Yasha said. As soon as the words left her lips, Fjord strode up past Jester and rapped hard on the carved doors.  “...Or we could just do that.” Fjord tried (and failed) to be subtle about rubbing his now-raw knuckles while they waited and listened.

     After an awkward minute in the shadow of the temple, there were steps behind the door, the sound of a big latch sliding.

     “See, just gotta be direct,” Fjord said, triumphant.  The doors creaked open, and in the entryway stood a human in neat black cotton robes, his hair cropped close to his skull.  He smiled, opening his mouth to speak, and then caught sight of Fjord.

     “Hello, can I-oh- wel-welcome to the Raven of the Temple Queen. Oh, no, that’s-” He fumbled.  A short, half-opaque veil covered the top half of his face, but he seemed out of sorts, dark cheeks visibly flushed.  Fjord gave him the best charming smile he could muster.

     “It’s alright.  This heat’s got everybody in a bit of a tizzy.” Jester hopped lightly up the steps and looped her arm through Fjord’s again, all sharp teeth and round cheeks.

     “Hello yourself! Can we come in? We have been looking for a temple like this for a while!” The poor acolyte jumped into action with several aborted apologies.  The doors yawned open with a rush of blessedly cool air. The four of them were ushered in, the boy’s eyes trailing after Fjord and Jester. Caleb shrunk into his coat and let his hair fall in his face.

     It took everyone’s eyes a minute to adjust to the sudden darkness.  The acolyte shut the door behind them, fumbling with the lock.

     “Where- Where do you hail from? I’m Sabrie, it’s nice to meet y’all!” He had a slight drawl, like most of the natives of Kamordah. He ushered them towards the sanctuary.  Fjord and Jester went through first, Caleb wandering after them, taking in the scenery.

  
     “We’re kinda from all over,” Fjord said over his shoulder.  Yasha lingered near the door blinking spots of light from her vision.

     The front entryway was heavy with dust- in the air, in the grooves of the delicate carvings into the dark rosewood, in the threads of the enormous tapestry that took up the wall.  A chandelier glowed softly above their heads, illuminating the picture. It depicted a pale woman in sumptuous black brocade, laying on her front on the ground, and above her, surrounded by silver and red rays, was what Yasha assumed to be the same woman, floating off the ground with three pairs of black wings sprouting from her back. Sabrie smiled at her, glancing from Yasha’s face to the tapestry.

     “Like that one?” he asked gently. Yasha bit her lip.

     “I’m still deciding.”

     “It’s of Our Lady ascending to godhood,” Sabrie continued, obviously more comfortable talking about a subject he knew.  “This one is my favourite. The artist used to be an acolyte here, did you know?” He didn’t wait for a response. “There are more of their tapestries further in! A lot of the things in here were made by them.  There’s a- a rug in the communion room that’s just so gorgeous, and…”

     Yasha let him rattle on as he led her to the others.  They were being talked to by a couple of other acolytes, one a short, pudgy human with smiling eyes and rosy cheeks, one of them a magenta tiefling with curly black hair and backswept horns.  Her heart jumped aching into her throat. She swallowed it back down.

     The sanctuary was more spacious than it had looked from the outside- a high gabled ceiling with several stained-glass skylights providing just enough to see by to those without darkvision.  An enormous, gorgeously woven rug covered the floor of the place, and piles of cushions sat around the edges of the room. A circular altar sat at the center, piled with candles pooled over with old wax and stuck into place.  Dried flowers and incense sat in bowls around the base of it, feathers littering every available surface. Oddly enough, scattered around the altar, there were handfuls of nuts and sunflower seeds.

     “...and that’s just their later work! The early stuff was really something,” he finished.  The tiefling looked up at the sound of his voice. 

     “You been borin’ these nice people?” They teased. Their eyes were black in the sclera, their orange irises split with vertical slits of pupils.  Sabrie rolled his eyes.

     “I’m doing my job,  _ Benevolence _ . What are you all doing?” He asked, not waiting for an answer.  “These folks are out-of-towners looking for a temple to Our Lady.” He turned excitedly to Jester. “Are you here for a service?”

     “Well, that depends on what kind of services you offer!” She chirped, winking at Sabrie.  He flushed again, stumbling over his words.

     “We, ah- we do, uh, funeral rites, a lot of the time- uhm, we have a graveyard out back, if that’s what you need, but it kinda, looks like y’all don’t need that, specifically-”  Benevolence rolled their eyes, leaning on the rosy-cheeked human. The human covered their mouth in laughter. “We also plan the winter festival, but it’s, uh, summer-”

  
     The rosy cheeked human put their hand on Sabrie’s shoulder. “Go get some water for our guests, hm?”  Sabrie jumped at the contact but ducked his head, bustling off towards the entryway again.

  
     “He’s sweet,” Jester said kindly, “I like him.”

  
     "I do too.” The human looked fondly after him. “He forgot to introduce us- I am Xander, this is Benevolence.” The gestured at the tiefling, who raised their hand in greeting.  

     “It’s nice to meet you.  I’m Jester, this is Fjord, the super-hot beefy lady back there is Yasha and the muddy guy trying to melt into the wall is Caleb,” Jester indicated each person in turn as she introduced them.  Xander nodded.

     “Well, to pick up where Acolyte Sabrie left off,” Behind them, the tiefling snickered in Infernal,  _ ‘Acolyte Sabrie, so formal for your own boyfriend,’    _ “We offer funerary rites, prayer services, communion, grief counselling-”

     “Excuse me, I am so sorry to interrupt,” Jester said, not sounding sorry at all, “But what is communion?” Xander lit up, their hands flapping slightly at their sides, their robes swishing softly and rhythmically.

     “Communion is our direct line to Our Lady!” They exclaimed.  “We’re very fortunate to have one of the few communion pools in Wildemount.  With it, we’re allowed to speak with Her in times of great need.”

     Xander carried on, and Sabrie brought them all cups of water. Jester kept talking excitedly with Xander and Sabrie, Fjord cutting in from time to time to time with a question or quip.  When Benevolence went off to the depths of the church to take care of some duty or another, Yasha glanced at Caleb out of the corner of her eye. He nodded, ever so slightly, and raised his hand to his mouth under the guise of tidying his beard.

_      ‘Keep them occupied for half an hour.  We are going to find the communion pool.’ _

     Jester’s round blue ear twitched, jingling her earring twice.  Caleb pushed off the wall, addressing Fjord and Jester.

     “Yasha and I would like to do some prayer, ah, somewhere less public.  Do you have anywhere like that?”

     “Of course,” Sabrie said, gesturing to the archway at the other side of the spacious room.  “We have prayer chambers down that hall. Would you like me to show you where they are?”  
  
     “It’s alright.” Yasha replied. “We can find it.”

     Sabrie nodded graciously and went back to the conversation with Jester and Fjord.  Fjord nodded too- not with grace, but with purpose. He met Yasha’s eyes.

     “See you in a bit,” he said.

     “See you in a bit.”

 

* * *

 

 

     The communion room was cool and dark, much like the rest of the little chapel.  It seemed unassuming- a gentle haze of dust floating in the soft light filtering through the stained glass ceiling of the place, the deep oak walls danced with blue-red-green-yellow spots of colour.  The air tasted of dust and copper. Yasha could have touched the ceiling if she wanted to. Bunches of dried flowers hung from the rafters, and when she looked, she realised the floor was covered in paper-delicate petals further into the room.  She stepped cautiously in, Caleb trailing close behind her.

     Their steps crunched on the petal carpet.  It reminded Yasha of walking through the woods in the autumn- the myrrh-and-lavender perfume of the place made her head swim.  Caleb put his scarf over his nose.

     Once her eyes adjusted, she could make out more of the room.  Several dark wood pews were lined up with an aisle down the middle, their velvet cushions also dusted with lilac and rosemary.  Unlit beeswax candles sat in sconces along the wall, and there, at the other end of the room, was a deep, still pool, set into the floor a few feet and surrounded by stairs leading down into it.  It looked almost black- until Caleb sent out his dancing lights to show the way.

     It became clear that the pool was blood.

     To his credit, Caleb was quiet in his gagging realization-  Yasha looked around, politely giving him a few moments to compose himself.

     “That is- oh, that is.  That is something.” He said weakly.  He snapped for Frumpkin- he appeared, letting Caleb bury his face into his side.  The air in the room was as still as the pool- not stagnant, just not moving. The chill in the air stung Yasha’s throat and pebbled her muscular arms.  Her scalp prickled- if the pool of blood hadn’t set off her nerves, it would have been the atmosphere. It was everywhere, inescapable. The holy thrum of the room coated her tongue and throat like raw honey.  She could have cut it with her sword.

     She took a step forward, then another- and then the heavily carved doors swung shut behind Caleb, narrowly missing closing his coat between them.  The two jumped at the creaking and the loud slam, but Yasha’s focus was singular and burning. She walked down the aisle, paying little attention to the brocade fabric lining the floor under her feet, picked with delicate images of birds in flight.  She didn’t pay attention to how the candles flicked to life as she advanced. She didn’t pay attention to the gentle breeze toying with the ends of her hair and kicking up petals in tiny cyclones around her feet.

     She moved like a bullet, destined to continue directly on until she reached her target.  She stopped at the edge of the stairs into the pool. No petals floated on its surface. She crouched on the ivory lip of the pool, scooped the blood up in one white hand and let it drip.  The ripples spread to the edges, lapping gently at the stairs.

     It was then she realised she had no idea what she was supposed to do.

     She sniffed at the blood in her hand and was thinking about licking it to see if that did anything when Caleb’s voice startled her.

     “What are you doing?”

     “I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now?” She said, a little flustered. “Are you supposed to- to drink it, or-”

     “I don’t know either, I have never been to a temple like this before-”

     And then, softly, sourcelessly, she heard a voice-  _ come in. _ She shot up, her hand on her sword before she could think.  Caleb stumbled back against the door of the room, clutching Frumpkin tight to his chest.

_      Come in. Ask me your questions, storm-born.   _ She forced her fingers to uncurl, making a placating motion in Caleb’s direction. The voice was unassuming, nothing like the voice which called her from the clouds, but Yasha knew in her bones- it was the Raven Queen.  

     She turned to the pool and stripped down to her leggings, businesslike, tossing her divested clothes into a pile.  Caleb turned around to face the doors as soon as she undid her belt.

     “I’ll just- I’ll just send Frumpkin to- to, to stand guard outside the room-” Yasha grunted her approval and kicked off her boots. As she was about to step in, Caleb’s voice gave her pause again, small and unsure, like a lost child.  “Yasha?”

     “What is it?”

     “I’m going to stay right here. I’ll be here.” His voice trembled with- something.  Yasha didn’t know what.

     “Okay. Stay right there.” She took a breath. “But if I’m not back in twenty minutes or so, go.  Get one of the acolytes.”

     “Okay. Okay,  _ ja,  _ twenty minutes. Got it.” He sounded about as nervous as she felt.  Her hair tickled the small of her back with another gentle breeze. She stepped into the pool.  The blood, as it had been in her hand, was freezing cold, sapping the heat from her entire body.  She kept descending the ivory stairs, fists curled tight. The pool seemed to be about chest-deep.  Once Yasha reached the middle of the pool, she took another steadying breath, clenched her teeth against the chill, and laid back. She crossed her arms over her chest and let the air in her lungs buoy her up.  Her hair floated around her like a halo, the white ends staining like snow, heavy braids trailing below the surface.

     Floating there was- not peaceful, that wasn’t the right word, but something close to it.  Quieting. Still. The voice reached her submerged ears again, raising prickles over her bare torso. Her eyes fluttered shut.

_      Come in. _

     Gods, Molly had better appreciate this.

     Slowly, ever so slowly, she released her breath, and let herself sink.   
  
  


 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [edit] ive got a spotify playlist for this story now!!! https://open.spotify.com/user/fnp7uuzrofq762609yomy7qqo/playlist/1dbxyVx1ocAyNR1eJ5704O


	7. in which there is a date with death

Yasha sank into the pool with an exhale that made Caleb’s skin crawl.  He sunk his fingers into Frumpkin’s scruff, his forehead still pressed against the huge cool doors.  He was hyperaware of his surroundings as he sank to his knees. Dry petals crunched under him, their scent rising up strongly enough to make his eyes water.

    “Alright,” he said, his scarf still held to his nose with one hand, the other supporting the cat against his chest, “Alright, Frumpkin, let’s have a seat here.”  Frumpkin lapped at Caleb’s fingers with his scratchy little tongue. At least he didn’t seem to be too upset by the situation.

    “We are going to sit here in absolute silence in a room with a pool of blood at the other end, under the surface of which our friend has just gone under, and we are going to wait for her to come back up and tell us what she has heard from the Goddess of the Moment of Death, and it is going to be absolutely fine.”  Caleb mumbled. “This is a step towards getting Mollymauk back, and everything is fine.” He realised a moment later that he was rocking. He didn’t care enough to stop himself, no one was watching and Frumpkin wasn’t one to judge.

    ...He was supposed to be doing something, wasn’t he?  He took a moment to breathe in Frumpkin’s clean animal scent, let it center him.  It had been two minutes since Yasha went under. This was normal, this had to be normal.  He heard no movement from behind him. The room was eerily silent.

  
    “We just- We just have to make sure that she is alright.” He said nervously. “We have to make sure we don’t- we don’t lose another one of our party.  What would Mollymauk think if we brought him back and- and there was no Yasha to greet him, hm?” Frumpkin kneaded his thighs. “It would be best if we had everyone here.”

     With a good measure of trepidation, he scooped his cat up onto his chest and walked the same way Yasha had down the aisle, settling on the side of the bone-white pool.  Not a ripple disturbed the liquid, not a single bubble broke the surface. He kneaded Frumpkin’s soft flank, starting up his rocking again.

    _“Eins...zwei...drei…”_

   

* * *

 

    Jester sat at the altar, under the guise of prayer, when she was interrupted by a strange flapping sound.  Jester looked up towards the source and there, perched on top of the altar, was a great, shining blue-black raven.  It peered down at her, curious, and chirred softly. Jester couldn’t help the grin that curled her mouth.

    “Oh, hello to you too, pretty bird!” She murmured, abandoning the Traveller pamphlets she had been hiding amongst the candles for the moment, grabbing a crumbling pastry out of her bag. She extended her hand slowly towards the bird.  It cocked its head. “Do you want some croissant? They’re really good and only like, six or seven days old!”

    The bird seemed to consider her offer, tilting its head this way and that, and then fluttered down to be on a level with Jester’s pudgy hand.  It took the crumbs delicately in its glossy beak and scarfed them down, cooing for more. Jester’s face lit up, smiling so widely her cheeks ached.

    “You want some more? Theres all kinds of nuts and berries around here, too, if you want- OH!” The bird, without warning, hopped off its perch and landed on her head.  Its feet were surprisingly warm on Jester’s scalp, and it was delicate with its talons. Jester raised her hand again, and the bird pushed its head against her claws. Delighted, she scritched gently at its ruff and chest- it was the softest thing she’d ever felt.  It warbled, leaning into her touch.

    “Oh my gosh.  Oh my gosh. I want to keep you in my pocket, you are _so_ soft.” She murmured to no one in particular.  The raven gave a gentle _scraaawk,_ its feathers fluffing up under Jester’s touch.  She giggled and turned her body slowly so as not to scare it off, and realised that across the altar, the acolytes and Fjord were all gaping at her.  Sabrie opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again, the cold tea he was pouring spilling out of the cup and onto the wood floor. Xander’s hands were pressed tightly to their heart, while Fjord looked...mildly spooked?

    “By the grace of Our Lady,” Xander murmured, doing an odd, twirling motion with one hand over their collarbone.  The bird stood again, hopping down to Jester’s shoulder and tugging lightly at her earring. She would have giggled, if not for the blatant reverence and holy fear on the acolytes’ young faces.

    “What? Am I doing something wrong?” Jester asked, her heart sinking.  The raven nuzzled its silky head under her chin.

    “No- no, not in the least,” Sabrie bumbled, finally putting the teapot down in the cold puddle he’d accidentally made.  “Birds are a sign of favour from Our Lady- the fact that She has blessed you with an emissary is- is, it’s baffling!” He exclaimed.  The bird’s feathers ruffled. It hopped back on Jester’s shoulder, nestling into the warm folds of her cloak.

    “I think he likes me!” She cooed.  “Fjord, look!”

    “I’m lookin’, I’m lookin’.” He assured her.  “Are you sure it’s not gonna bite you or somethin’?”

  
    “No, it’s okay!” She said, rubbing her cheek on the bird’s silken back.  It nibbled her earring affectionately. “Hey- Sabrie?”

  
    “Yes?”

    “Ravens are...the Raven Queen’s servants, right?”  The bird tapped its beak against her cheek.

    “I- yes, they’re Her emissaries, Her sacred animals.” Jester nodded, stroking the bird’s head.

    “So if- If i have a request, I could ask the bird? Is she more likely to say yes if this bird chose me?”  She asked, a twinge of desperation colouring her words. Sabrie looked her over, something working behind his eyes.

    “...I mean...Our Lady doesn’t really take requests, per se, but...I suppose you’re welcome to ask?” He finished lamely, gesturing at the happy bird on her shoulder.  “I’ve been here since I was a child, and I’ve never seen a raven be so...cuddly. Maybe it could help you.”

    “Okay. Okay, I am going to talk to this bird now, don’t stare at me!” She announced, turning her back on the other three in the room.  Fjord blinked at his reflection in the cup he held. Just when he was sure his life could not possibly get any more weird, things like this happened.  He sighed, deeply, and drained his cup.

    When he looked up again, the chubbier human was studying him intently.  Fjord swallowed, clearing his throat.

    “Somethin’ on my face?” He asked.  Xander’s expression shifted subtly.  They took his hand, cool between their warmer ones.

    “You’ve been saddled with a great tragedy, haven’t you?”  Fjord did a double take.

    “I- I beg your pardon?”  

    “You’ve got a lot of threads on you, Fjord, you and your friends.  I apologize for prying, but there’s a reason you’ve come here, to our temple.”

    “Yes, my friends wanted to pray. That’s the reason. That ain’t a crime.” He insisted, nerves starting to fray.  Xander let him pull his hand away.

    “I know. It isn’t.  I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”  They smiled at him, somber. “Life is hard for the living. I hope you and yours will be dealt a kind hand.”

    Unbidden, Fjord’s eyes began to sting.  The understanding this- this _kid_ was trying to show him, how could they know? How could they know the hole that had been ripped in his family and poorly stitched back together, with the wrong thread, the wrong needle, the wrong _everything?_ They couldn’t possibly know.  They couldn’t. He swallowed thickly, the taste of salt rich and unwelcome in his throat.  

    Fjord missed Molly.

    But he couldn’t dwell.  There would be time to deal with it once they had Molly safely back with them, he reasoned, and willed his eyes to dry.  

    Xander patted his knee kindly, standing up from the cushion they’d been sitting on, tapping Sabrie’s head. “We’ll give you both a moment.  The sanctuary is yours for another few hours until this evening- there’s a funeral service tonight. We’ll be in the kitchens until then, if you need us.  They’re easy to find, just the other side of the entry and up the stairs.”

     The acolytes gathered the cutlery and dishes and disappeared, Sabrie chancing a last glance over his shoulder at Fjord.  He caught his eye and smiled, waving over his shoulder with a cup. Fjord nodded as they left, leaving the silence of the sanctuary thick behind them. He took deep breaths, centering himself, and lost track of time.

     For the first time in a while, Jester passed up the chance to ogle Fjord, instead crouching behind the altar.  This was _important._ She prodded the bird’s chest, and it gave an irritated croak.

  
    “Come on, sleepyhead.  You can nap later, okay?”  If Jester had ever seen a bird give her such a potent stink-eye, she couldn’t remember.  It stepped begrudgingly onto her finger. “Thank you. I have a question I need to ask.”

     The bird cooed curiously at her. Gods, she needed to look into getting a bird familiar.

     “Okay, so normally, I don’t really worship your boss-lady, but this is a special circumstance.” The bird ruffled its feathers. “I know, I know, I probably should, whatever.  We came to this temple because- we, uh. We lost someone. And we want him back, like, super bad. I- I tried to do a resurrection ritual, you know, but that didn’t quite turn out like I planned? And it’s probably technically my fault, so I figure I should be the one to ask about it.”  She tried a smile, but it came out looking like she was trying not to cry. The bird tilted its head again.

     “No, don’t look at me like that, I’m fine,” she admonished, her voice cracking a little.  She delved into her bag with her free hand and grabbed her sketchbook, flipping clumsily to the pages of Molly sketches.  She tapped the best head-on one to get the bird’s attention.

     “This is him.  His name is Molly and we love him and we want him back.  If you- If you being here really does mean the Raven Queen likes me, or us, or- or however that works, can you please please ask her to give our Molly back?  He’s family,” she finished quietly. “It’s...wrong, without him, yknow?”

    The bird considered the painting for a moment, and then considered Jester.  It hopped from her hand to her shoulder again, butting its tiny warm head into her freckled cheek, crooning comfortingly. She huffed.

    “Yeah, you know.”

  


* * *

 

 

    Yasha’s shoulders touched the frigid bottom of the pool.  She laid still for a few seconds, waiting for the voice to direct her again.  It was silent, and it was dark, and Yasha was alone. She waited until her lungs started to burn, until she had to actively swim down to stay at the bottom. The blood was syrupy-thick around her, she was moving in slow motion.  Still, nothing happened.

     Desperation gripped her heart, and she screwed her eyes shut tighter, thinking as hard as she could.

    _‘Please,’_ she thought, _‘please, I need answers.  I’ve lost something precious. I want him back.’_  No response.  

    _‘I have to fix this! I wasn’t there to protect him! I want him back!’_

The blood remained cold and impassive.  Yasha’s eyes ached with tears, her throat constricted, and she kicked off the bottom, intending to take another breath and swim down this time, there had to be _something_ she was doing wrong.

    She kept swimming up.

    And up.

    And up.

    It hit Yasha-she wouldn’t reach the surface. The surface was gone.  She was going to die here without getting any answers- Molly would stay dead and Caleb would get the acolyte and they would fish her corpse out of the pool.  Fury welled in her core, burned through her air-starved muscles, her eyes snapped open. The blood _burned_ .  She sucked down an involuntary breath and her throat was full of blood, rushing down her esophagus, down to fill the empty space of her lungs and belly, she tried to scream, _Molly_ -

    And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

    Her chest heaved and her lungs were full of air.  Her eyes opened- a soft glow lit her from beneath.  Millions of silver threads were suspended what could have been five miles or five finches below her, she couldn’t tell.  She floated gently down, her hair trailing up above her head clean and dry. She looked down at herself- no more goosebumps, not a trace of blood.  It was pleasantly warm, and that was the last thought she had before her feet made contact with some kind of solid ground. She stood, turned around-

    A mask floated in the darkness.  Empty eye-holes, impassive ruby lips, high cheekbones and a sloping nose.  The strangest thing was Yasha couldn’t tell how far away it was. She didn’t even have a general idea of the size of it.  The mask hovered somewhere above her, framed with straight black hair tumbling down into infinity, and she knew she was in the presence of a goddess.

    _You have come far,_ the Raven Queen intoned.  The mask did not move, but the voice echoed from everywhere.  Yasha nodded. What else could she do? _What have you lost, daughter of Xhorhas?_

“His name is Mollymauk Tealeaf,” She replied, the words spilling faster than she cared to rein them in.  “He’s about shoulder height to me, weighs a hundred-thirty pounds soaking wet, his favourite thing to have for breakfast is cinnamon pancakes and he’s scared of the dark, and he, he-” Her voice broke.  Her eyes stung hot and salty, and when they spilled over, the tears floated up around her head like a crown of pearls. Yasha sank to her knees.

    “He’s my best friend, my _first_ friend.  I wasn’t there when he needed me, and he died, and I need him back.  We all need him back.” She swiped at her eyes, and when they opened again, she was sitting in front of a small woman wearing a mountain of black robes and a porcelain mask.  The woman reached out and pulled Yasha’s head against Her chest, as careful as if She were holding a newborn. There was no heartbeat where Yasha’s ear rested. Her clothes smelled like dead leaves going to rot.  One of Her small, cool hands rested on the crown of Yasha’s head and stroked her hair. Yasha let Her, taking shuddering breaths. Her long black hair curtained Yasha safely off from the rest of the strange space around the two.

    _I cannot return him to you,_ said the Raven Queen.  Yasha tensed, her fingers curling in the black silk of the goddess’s robes.   _But I cannot let him pass on, for there is nowhere for him to pass on to._

    “...What do you mean?” Yasha asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.  There was a sound like the beating wings of a great bird, and then the goddess stood towering again, as tall as the spires of Zadash, with Yasha small as a copper in Her palm.  The silvery threads she had seen earlier surrounded them, now the size of ropes, some thick as her torso, some thin as her little finger. They flickered as the Raven Queen passed through them, moving out of Her way with a brush of Her free hand, until finally, She stopped before a single thread, a hair’s breadth across, drifting into the dark.

    _Each thread you see was spun at the loom of the old god of fate._ She brushed Her hand against several of the threads surrounding the thin one-  Yasha felt a twinge in her gut. The threads that the Raven Queen touched swung gently.   _Therefore, they are in my dominion, and are mine to watch over._

_However, this thread is different._ The huge hand swept towards and then through the thread.   _I cannot touch it.  I do not have power over this thread.  As the Goddess of Fate as well as Death, this is interesting to me._

The thread was burned into Yasha’s vision.  She reached out to touch it- her hand passed through it, just as the Raven Queen’s had.

    _This thread is the fate of Mollymauk Tealeaf, and it did not exist until recently._

And then, Yasha was on the ground, the Raven Queen above her, the mask miles and miles away.  Her stomach churned.

    _There are laws that must be observed, as old as life and death itself.  Once a soul enters my realm, I cannot return them to the prime material plane._

    “But- You just said his thread wasn’t yours!” Yasha protested, “Doesn’t that mean his soul isn’t yours, either?”  The mask was in front of her again, impossibly huge.

    _I cannot return him to you, storm-born. He is not mine to give._

    And then her mouth was full of cold, thick blood, rushing up her nose and down her throat as she thrashed, she felt the skeletal wings she kept hidden away extend to their full span in her panic and-

    They scraped against the edge of the pool as Yasha burst through the surface, spraying blood up to the ceiling and over the walls, slopping over the ivory sides and onto the front pews.  Her hair was heavy with it as she hauled herself over to the ledge, vomiting what she had swallowed, coughing and gasping, dripping blood from her nose. Caleb was by her side in an instant, hauling her out of the pool by her belt-loops with strength she didn’t know he had.  She flopped on her back in the aisle, her teeth chattering with chill and awe. Her necrotic shroud dissipated, leaving only crimson wingprints emanating from her silhouette, spanning wall-to-wall.

    She realised Caleb’s mouth was moving.  If she concentrated hard enough she could hear his voice over the rushing of feathers in her ears.  As she stared up at the points of light filtering through the ceiling, she began to piece her encounter together.  Her raw throat ached, she was shuddering hard with cold and exhaustion, and if she never tasted blood again it would be too soon.  She got to her elbows, spitting the last of the vile stuff off to the side.

    Caleb was offering her his waterskin when she finally registered what she was seeing.  She took a swig to rinse her mouth and downed the rest of it in one greedy pull. She managed between deep, heaving breaths.

  
    _“Thanks,”_ she croaked, handing him back the waterskin with a huge bloody handprint on it.  He took it back without a hitch.

    “You were under for fourteen minutes,” Caleb said.  She pulled herself up to a vaguely seated position, her head hanging and elbows resting on her knees.  She took a moment, letting the world stop spinning around her. He coughed awkwardly into his fist, wiping his hand on his leg.

    “I- erm- we should- you’re naked.  I folded your clothes-” He gestured vaguely towards the back of the sanctuary. “I don’t have- I don’t have a towel, or anything like that-”

  
    She stared at him, wordless, blood dripping down her face.

    “Right- sure.” Caleb went to grab the small grey pile of clothes while Yasha caught her breath, then began the work of  squeezing the blood out of her hair. He sat them down an a clean space on the front pews. Frumpkin hopped delicately onto Yasha’s lap, licking a drip of blood from her cheek.  She smiled a little, despite herself.

    She felt deft hands taking a chunk of her hair and starting to wring it out.  Caleb stood beside her, sleeves pushed up and bandages removed. Deep, old burn scars pitted his arms in curling patterns, up past where his cuffs now rested.  They were quiet as they worked- Yasha didn’t have words for what she had experienced, not at the moment. Caleb didn’t force her to talk about it. They understood each other.

    Several minutes passed like that, until Caleb stepped back and wiped the blood from his palms on the inside of his coat.

    “I think that’s as good as we’re going to get it without a bath.” He said. He tipped the last few drops from his waterskin onto the edge of his scarf, unwrapping it from around his neck. “For your face.” Yasha took it with a grateful hum.  

  
    "It’s the least I can do.  I should be thanking you, really."

  
    Yasha regarded him with a raised eyebrow as she handed his scarf back.  He tutted, tilting her chin up and wiping a smear that she had missed.

  
    "I saw the pool of blood and froze.  But you, you dove right in without hesitation.  Mollymauk is fortunate to have a friend like you.”  He licked his thumb and got the last of the blood, and with it, the kohl Yasha lined her eyes with.  “There you are. Now, about the rest of this mess...”

    “...Sword, please.” Yasha requested, and let Caleb help her to her feet.  She took the flat of her huge blade and started to slough off the slowly coagulating mess on her skin.

    “Okay. Okay, I am going to send Frumpkin to check on the others. We have six and a half minutes left of our thirty-minute time window.”  Yasha nodded, and Caleb sat down and snapped his fingers. Frumpkin disappeared and reappeared outside of the sanctuary, still cleaning blood off his whiskers.  Caleb had him peek around the corner- Fjord seemed to be meditating, and Jester was...talking to a bird. Alright. Why not. He had the cat trot over to Jester, butting his head into her arm.

    “Oh- Hi, Frumpy-and-or-Caleb.  Time to go?”

    Two deliberate pats on Jester’s arm.

    “Okay.  The acolytes went to give me and Fjord some space- sweet of them, huh- did you end up finding the communion room?”  
    Two pats.

    “Did you get Molly? I just talked to this bird about it-” The bird ruffled its neck feathers.  Jester was convinced it understood Common.

    One pat.  Jester deflated, some of the brightness going out of her face.

    “It’s okay. I know it was a long shot.” She sighed, so softly Caleb almost missed it.  She scritched behind Frumpkin’s ears and down the length of his spine. Caleb let him lean into her touch. “I’ll get Fjord and we can go.”

    Caleb let the cat rub up against Jester’s side again and told him to come back to the communion room before letting his senses come back to his own body.  By that time, Yasha had mostly cleaned up, putting her shirt back on and buckling her belts by the time his vision cleared.

    She ran her hands over her face, pressing on her eyes for a long moment.  Her barrel chest rose and fell. As they walked, Caleb took point, peeking around corners with Frumpkin.  He rested his hand on Yasha’s elbow when he slipped out of his skin.

      Just before they turned the corner to go to the sanctuary, Caleb stopped.

      “Do you think it was worth it?” He asked, his eyes focused somewhere over Yasha’s shoulder.  She thought hard for a moment, a line forming between her brows. She answered the only way she knew how- honestly.

    “I don’t know, Caleb.”

    He nodded, and they went up the stairs to meet their friends.

 

* * *

 

     The next stop was the bath-house.  Jester wanted to go directly back to the inn and ‘scare the pants right off that greasy fucker,’ in her own words, but the still-bustling road and marketplace posed the threat of prying eyes, and they were conspicuous enough as they were, much less with the most imposing member of their current group covered in blood residue and gods knew what else.

    “We _have_ to get you cleaned up before we go anywhere else, Yasha, you look like you just ripped ten gnolls apart with your bare hands.”  Fjord looked a little green around the gills and was trying not to breathe too deeply through the nose as the spring sun made the mess smell even worse.

    “I have done that before,” Yasha informed him.

    Jester patted her arm.  “We know, and we love you.”

    The receptionist at the bathhouse didn’t seem to notice the state they were in.  She waved them on, boredly thumbing through a novel. They managed to get a private room with a screen.  Yasha undressed, wincing at the way her clothes peeled off her body, and how the blood dried her hair in heavy clumps to her skin.  She got in the water as quickly as possible, ducking under and scrubbing her face with her palms. Jester sat by the stone edge of the bath, stripped down to her underthings with her bloomers pulled up above her knees. The boys looked away until Jester rolled her eyes.

     “I’m not gonna get totally naked, you guys, I was just gonna help them wash their hair!”  She leaned down so that Yasha could see her. “Can I help you wash your hair?”

    Yasha’s ears went pink.  “Yes. If you want.”

    “I do want!” Jester chirped delightedly.  Once everyone was settled, they all sat near the edge of the pool.  Caleb washed his hands, picked his nails clean, and then repeated the process two more times.  

    “So, Yasha,” Fjord started, “What, uh. What happened?  What’d you find out?”

    Yasha stared down at the slightly pink water, squeezing the washrag in her hand. “I...hm. That’s a good question.”  The afterimage of the Raven Queen’s mask burned behind her eyes, the echo of her voice subsonic, felt in Yasha’s ribs like rolling thunder and war drums.

      _I cannot give him back to you, storm-born._

    She shuddered, though the water was warm.  Jester abandoned the hank of hair she was shampooing to rub Yasha’s shoulders.  Caleb looked up from his hands and smiled wanly at her. 

    “It’s okay. Take your time.”

    Slowly, haltingly, she relayed her encounter to the others.  The masked woman, the threads, along with the thin, untouchable one the Raven Queen had said belonged to Molly, and her cryptic repetition of that one phrase.  Everyone but Jester looked concerned and mildly confused, including Yasha.

    “Yeah, that makes sense.  The room with the threads.”

    “Jester, no offense, how on the gods’ green earth does that make sense?” Fjord asked.

    “Well, you know! Didn’t you ever hear about the threads of fate? The whole thing about the Raven Queen’s loom and how everyone’s fate is spun out from the beginning of time until the end of the world?” She said, as factually as she might have commented on the weather.

    “I mean- Jes, those are just stories, we can’t base out whole game plan on that.”

    “Actually,” Yasha interrupted, “it wasn’t her loom.  It was the old god of fate that spun the threads. She told me.” Jester looked triumphantly at Fjord, doing a little shimmy with her shoulders.  He sighed fondly.

    “Okay, okay, you were only mostly right.”

    “More right than you!” she sing-songed back at him, beginning to pick Yasha’s braids apart.  Yasha relaxed into Jester’s touch, the chill in her bones from the temple finally ebbing. Jester cooed.

    “I’m super good at this.  If you were a tiefling you would purr!” She gasped, “Oh!! Or a tabaxi!! Oh, Yasha, you would have such pretty fur as a tabaxi, and with your eyes-!!”  Her tail splashed the surface of the water in excitement. “I am so totally going to draw both of those, I bet your tiefling horns would be _super_ tall and handsome, just like the rest of you!!” Her grin turned sly. “I bet Beau would think so too.”

    “I- But, Jester, I’m neither of those things.” She said, still leaning into Jester’s skilled hands.  

    “I know, but if you were…”

    Caleb coughed politely.  Jester shook her head. “Right, right, we’re getting off track.”  Her tail went back to idly swishing through the water in figure eights.  “But yeah, no, the threads thing makes sense. And she couldn’t touch Molly’s?” Yasha hummed affirmatively.  

    “I couldn’t touch it either.  It looked so...flimsy, like it was made of spider silk.”  Her expression went stony. “Does that mean anything? Does it- does it mean he’s-”  Her breath caught in her throat. “Is he gone, Jester?”

    “Oh, no, no no no, my love,” She said, wrapping her arms around Yasha’s shoulders, getting suds all down her front. “No, he’s not gone.  He’s not gone.” Yasha blinked hard. Fjord and Caleb pretended not to notice her vulnerability. It was only kind.

    After a minute of heavy quiet, Fjord spoke up.

    “I didn’t really get much outta those acolytes.  They were...nice, but not especially helpful.” Jester, who had gone back to pouring water over the soapy portions, brightened considerably.

    “Oh! But I did meet a really sweet bird in the temple!” She wiped her hands on her bloomers, reached into the haversack and pulled out her sketchbook.  In the crease sat a beautiful blue-black feather, longer than her hand. “It gave me this.

    Caleb stared blankly at her.

    “You...you _met_ a bird.”

    “Yes! Didn’t you see when you sent Frumpy-lumpy-kins to check on me?”

    “I...I suppose so? I didn’t give it much thought.”

    “Well, Sabrie and Xander said that ravens are her sacred animals!  Which makes sense, like, it’s right in her name!” She gestured with her hand and sent an arc of now-brownish droplets through the air.  “They thought that maybe it meant she liked me, or liked us. But it landed on me, luckily, cause Fjord is scared of birds.” Fjord spluttered, lightly smacking Jester’s shoulder.

    “I am not! They’re just- they don’t move right! Their heads and their beady lil’ eyes are just freaky, that’s all.”  He waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway, it’s beside the point. Did the bird... _talk_ to you at all?”

    Jester shook her head.

    “No, not in words.  But, like- it definitely for sure understood what I was saying.”  Fjord gaped helplessly at her.

    “How d’you- Jester, how is that _helpful?”_ He ran a hand through his hair.  “It’s all well and good that you made friends with a bird, but how is that gonna help us get Molly back?!” He demanded. Jester frowned, pursing her lips.

    “Well- I- I don’t know!! If she likes us, isn’t there a better chance she could help us?”  She wrung out another section of hair with a forceful motion. Yasha winced. “I showed it a picture of Molly that I drew- it, it really looked like him!  I’m a really good artist! I told it Molly’s name and that we needed him back- Don’t make that face! I know what I’m talking about! It understood!!” Her voice bounced off the walls of the small room, bordering on shouting.  Her frown morphed into a furious scowl.

     _“How?”_ Fjord pressed.  “We don’t even know if she’s got him! If she didn’t have control over his- his fate thread or whatever the fuck-”

    They were interrupted by a knock at the door.  Caleb nearly jumped out of his skin, shaken from his train of thought.

    “Fresh water!” Called a bath attendant.  Fjord got up to unlock the door. Jester wrapped Yasha’s sopping hair in a towel and helped her out of the tub, behind the modesty screen.

    An older half-elf entered with several attendants, all carrying huge buckets of steaming water.  An awkward, tense silence filled the air between the four travelling companions. One of the attendants took Yasha and Jester’s clothes away to be washed, and within a few minutes, they were gone again.

    Yasha stepped into the pool again, unable to stop the pleased hiss from escaping between her teeth.  Jester settled back into her place behind her, taking a container of something smelling of flowers and spices and putting a generous dollop into Yasha’s hair.  She scrubbed vigorously.

    “You don’t just have to stand here and watch.  Go tell Beau and Nott what you found out.” Her tone was clipped and left little room for argument.

    “We might know,” Caleb said, out of the blue. Fjord turned to look at him- he was chewing at his knuckle, deep in thought.  

    “We might know what, Caleb?” Yasha asked, grimacing as Jester teased a tangle apart.

    “I-We might have an idea.  Maybe not know, but-”

    “Wait, do you know somethin’?”

    “I mean, it’s really more of a hunch than anything-”

    “Cay-leb! Spit it out!”

    “Molly was in my dream when I fell asleep on the way into the city this morning and he told me a nursery rhyme about magpies but it could also apply to corvids of any sort and I think he’s trying to tell us he’s with the Raven Queen!” He blurted, the words spilling out in a whitewater rush, almost too fast to understand.

    Of course, it was Jester that caught on first.  A slow smile spread across her face.

    “You had a dream about Molly?” She asked, leaning her chin into the top of Yasha’s head like she might lean on a table to catch an interesting crumb of gossip.Caleb felt blood rise in his cheeks.

    “It was- yes.”

    Fjord leaned in too, turning Caleb gently by the shoulder to look into his face.  “What happened?” He asked, his eyes suddenly intent. Jester scoffed and muttered under her breath.

     “Oh, so when I talk to a sacred animal of the Raven Queen, you don’t believe me, but Caleb has a wet dream and suddenly you’re all ears.”  

    Caleb spluttered. “I- no, no, it was nothing- nothing untoward! It wasn’t even- we were at this party-”

    “A _party?_ Caleb, I didn’t think you were into-”

     _“Jester!!”_ He scolded.  He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, remembering the feeling of Molly’s practically bare chest against his.  How there was no pounding pulse to mirror Caleb’s. “It was- a party, that I went to when I was seventeen, at- at a fancy venue.  I was going to find my friends, but Molly tapped me on the shoulder and we…” He swallowed dryly, pressing his knuckles to his lips.  They tingled with the memory. If he had leaned in a centimeter closer…

    “And youuuu?” Jester prompted, looking like she was on the edge of her seat.

    “...And we danced.”  Caleb said softly, tracing the curve of his lower lip with his finger.  “He told me- I said he oughtn’t be there, and he said he knew and that it wasn’t easy to get there and I had better listen.”  His eyes were glued to the floor. “And he- He told me a nursery rhyme from back home. The Zemni Fields.”

    He recited the rhyme and left out the part about Molly leaning in to kiss him when the bump in the road woke him up.  

    “And- And usually, the rhyme is about magpies, but- but I know in some parts, it was about crows, or- ravens.”  He finished, finally looking up. The flush was just barely starting to recede from his face. Jester looked positively starry-eyed, while Fjord and Yasha looked more mystified than anything.

    “So he _is_ with the Raven Queen!” Jester gasped. “That’s got to be it, right?”

    “You have had more contact with gods than I.”  Caleb shrugged. “Does it seem plausible to you?”  Jester’s brows knit together.

    “I mean...hm.  When the Traveller talks to me, sometimes it’s confusing.  But he’s usually talking about playing pranks, not...not new souls.”  

    “The gods aren’t easy to understand, for the most part.” said Yasha.   “I think-I think if we understood everything, then we would be gods.” She fiddled with a strand of hair, twisting the carved bead on it. “When my god speaks to me, it’s usually through dreams.  Maybe Molly could do the same, if he's in the Astral Plane.” Fjord passed a hand over his face. For a moment, Caleb could see what kind of man he would be if he made it into the next decade of his life- hard-lined, bone-tired, the wrinkles on his face beaten with sea air underscored with yearning.  His heart ached for Fjord, unexpected and sharp.

    “It’s more than we had this morning.” He said, after a long pause.  “More’n we started with. We still don’t know why Molly’s soul string ain’t like the others, and we don't know how to get to him proper.”  He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

    “You should go back and tell Beau.  And Nott. They’re clever.” Yasha suggested.  Jester hummed in agreement.

    “Yeah, go on to the Wandering Mermaid.  This is gonna take a while.” She gestured at Yasha’s half-shampooed hair.  “We need some girl time.”

    Caleb stood, still gnawing at his joints.  Fjord gently took his wrist and lowered it.

    “Nott would have my hide if I let you come back with bloody knuckles,” he said, not unkindly.  Caleb lowered his hand. Fjord turned to face the occupants of the pool.

    “Jes, I’m-”

    “Don’t you ‘Jes’ me right now.  I’m kinda pissed at you. We’ll talk later. Goodbye, now.”  Fjord nodded, turned on his heel and walked directly out the door without saying another word.  Caleb whistled low.

    “Yikes.”

    He waved goodbye to Jester and Yasha, and followed after Fjord up the street, jogging to catch up.  He let his mind drift, trying to connect the pieces of a puzzle when he didn't have the full set, any corners, or even an idea of what the finished picture was supposed to be.

  It was more than nothing.

  



	8. in which the course is charted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's nearly september! that means classes are starting, the homework will be coming, and my poor brain will be spread like not enough butter over too much toast. my update schedule will likely be closer to once a month during the school year. rest assured i still want to write this! i'll just have less time. thank u for understanding and getting on this crazy ride in the first place. mwah.

     The room at the Wandering Mermaid was stuffy.  Nott had procured a large block of ice for a few silver and was absolutely delighted- there was a small chisel and hammer provided to chip away blocks of it, which she eagerly pocketed.  She and Beau had been crunching away at it all afternoon and sipping the melt as it appeared. 

 

     Early on, Beau tried to offer some of the ice to Lucien, to very little avail.

 

     “You want some of this?” She asked, extending a handful of still-solid ice.  Lucien sneered, rolling over the other way to face the wall. He still hadn’t unlaced his shirt by a single eyelet.  What little hair that was long enough was sticking to his forehead. “Come on, man, I might want you dead but that’s Molly’s body you’re wearing.”  
  
     “I am a tiefling,” he snarled. Beau blinked.

     “Y’sure are, thanks, Captain Obvious.”

     “That means I am impervious to heat.”  
  
     “Okay, I’ll call bullshit.  Tieflings sweat, which means they get hot,” she retorted through a mouthful of ice.  “You might be able to stick your hand in the fireplace and be fine, but you’re sweating like hell.”  Lucien huffed and stuck his face into the crack between the bed and the wall. Beau rolled her eyes. “Y’know, for somebody who uses dead bodies to fight and refuses to smile and has this whole big-serious-baddie vibe going on, you’re really childish.”   
  


     He didn’t dignify that with a response.   
  


     “Yeah,  _ real  _ mature. Go pout about it.”  She tipped back in her chair, letting it rest against the silver-threaded door.  Nott glanced up at her from her place on the floor, counting out her buttons for the fifth time.     
  


     “Beau, are you really going to antagonize him?” She hissed, definitely loud enough for him to hear.  Beau rolled her eyes.   
  


     “It’s not my fault he’s such a pissbaby.”  She grabbed another chunk of ice, popping it in her mouth.  “An’ besides, not like there’s anything else to do.”    


     Nott sighed, putting the last button into its proper pile.  She wanted badly to message Caleb, check in on the others, but she didn’t want to interrupt whatever they were doing.  After so long in the same room doing nothing, the minutes started to blur together, and Beau had forbidden her to open any windows, just in case.  There were only so many ways to organize one’s buttons, Nott thought, and she had thoroughly exhausted them.

     “Why don’t we just interrogate him?” She asked, sweeping her collection back into whatever pocket of her coat they’d sprung from.     
  
     “He doesn’t look very talkative.”  
  
     “We can  _ make  _ him.”

     “I love the enthusiasm, but we can’t just break his fingers and make him talk.  He-” Her brow furrowed. “He’s still in Molly’s body. The others would be pissed if they came back and he had a broken nose.” Nott studied the shape on the bed, the measured rise and fall of his ribs.  When she spoke, her voice was even and calm.

     “There are other ways to make people talk besides brute force.”  Beau looked at her, bewildered, and grabbed another chunk of ice.  There was a long silence, filled with the stale heat of the inn and the dull roar of the patrons below.  The ice crunched again, and without looking away from the bed, Nott took the handful that Beau offered her.  She jumped when Beau’s hand settled on her head, scritching with bitten-down nails.

     “I’m not- I’m not super great with words, or emotions, or, like, delicate stuff like that, but if you need anything, like- we can go get beers together later? Or if you wanna do sparring practice after the others get back, we could?”  When Nott turned to face Beau, she was trying a reassuring smile. She’d really gotten better at it in the last few months. Nott let herself lean into the touch, her hair getting even more mussed than usual.

     “Thank you, Beau.  That’s very sweet of you to offer.”  Beau grinned, less forced this time.   
  
     As the clump of ice finally melted into nothingness, something pinged in the back of Nott’s skull.  The familiar static of the Message spell put her hair on end. She pulled out of Beau’s reach, sticking her fingers in her ears to hear better.   
  
_     “We are coming back to the inn now, as soon as Fjord finishes his purchase. We have some new information, is everything alright?”  _ Caleb’s voice rung in her head, tinny and slightly distant, like he was speaking from the other end of a drainpipe.  She fumbled for the bunch of wire she kept on her, cupping it between her hands and doing the somatics to reply to Caleb.   
  
_      “We’re fine! Come back safe! You can reply to this message!” _ A weight lifted from her shoulders as the buzz of the spell faded, leaving only a slight ringing in her ear.  She sighed, letting her head loll forwards and stretch out the tightness that had gathered since the others had left for the temple.  

     “That was Caleb.  They’ll be back soon.”  Beau relaxed incrementally, the set of her shoulders going from high alert to her usual loose demeanour.  Color returned to her knuckles.

     “Good. Maybe we’ll be able to figure this out now.”  She remained on the chair, tipped back and examining her nails while Nott bustled around, fixing up the other bed, rearranging their things in the corner, anything to keep busy.  

 

* * *

 

     There came three knocks on the door in rapid succession.  Before Beau could react, Nott called over her shoulder.

     “What’s the password?”

     “Let us in, Nott,” came Fjord’s voice.

     “That isn’t the password.”

     “Ott-nay, uh, the Ave-bray.” said Caleb.  
  
     She darted around Beau to unlock the door.  

     Beau moved out of the way, arms crossed over her chest and brow cocked as Fjord and Caleb shuffled in. “That’s your password? Not very secure.”  Nott stuck out her tongue in response. When it became clear that it was only the boys coming through, the crease in Beau’s brow reappeared. “Where’s Yash and Jes?” She asked, the worry settling back on her shoulders.  Fjord held out his hands placatingly.

     “They’re fine.  They stopped by the bath house on the way back.  Yasha’s hair was a mess.”

     “Her hair’s always a mess. You sure they’re okay?” She insisted. 

     “Oh, no, more of a mess than usual,” Caleb said, fiddling with his spellbook holsters, “There was a lot of blood in it. More like she was covered in it.” 

_      “What?!”  _ Beau shrieked, whirling on him.  Nott jumped to her feet, going for her crossbow already, when Fjord raised his voice.

     “Settle, settle! She’s okay! Somethin’ about communing with the raven queen involving a pool of blood because why the fuck not, like a temple to a death goddess ain’t creepy enough on its own!” 

     Caleb looked up, meeting Fjord’s glare.  He blinked owlishly.

     “Oh! No, no, none of it is her blood. At least, I don’t think it’s hers.  I did not actually ask.” Beau hissed through her teeth and sat heavily on the free bed, leaning on one knee and looking ready to spring at any second.

     “I think you should explain what went down.  From the top.” Fjord settled at the foot of the bed, taking a strip of fabric out of his bag, a needle and gold thread.  Beau looked at him accusingly and he shrugged.

     “You’re gonna  _ embroider? _ Right now?”

     “What? It’s gonna take a while.”

     “I swear to the gods, you’re such a grandma.”

     “Well,  _ one  _ of us ought to have some sense. That usually falls to me, unless you wanna start settling down.”

     Uncharacteristically, Beau just rolled her eyes and let Caleb talk.

 

* * *

 

 

     From across the room, The Nonagon’s ear perked up ever so slightly.

_      So they actually talked to the old bird, _ he thought, incredulous.  While it was inconvenient, it was better than being cooped up in this blasted room any longer enduring the obnoxious one’s needling.  

     He concentrated on the mage’s words, paying no heed to the chatter of patrons from downstairs and the dull roar of the outside world.  Caleb spoke low and quiet in his chest, and no matter how The Nonagon tried, he could only catch a small portion of what he was relaying to the group.  The others didn’t interject, except the half-orc, and he spoke even lower than Caleb.

     From what he could understand, the mage, the blue tiefling, the half-orc and the tall woman had indeed gone to the temple of the Raven Queen.  Yasha had communed with her, by the sound of it, and Jester had somehow managed to catch the attention of one of Her birds.

     What caught his attention most was the mumbling rendition of a dream Caleb had.  He didn’t like the sound of it one bit. If their Molly was strong enough to be reaching out in dreams, it could mean trouble for himself.  However, at the same time, perhaps it wasn’t the strength of Molly’s soul, but rather- 

     With a jolt, he realised he didn’t know what day it was. With another jolt, like expecting another stair when there wasn’t one, he realised he didn’t know the  _ year.   _ He ran it over and over in his head- he’d been resurrected four or five days ago, he couldn’t be sure, and the whole time it had been warm and storming, with puddles gathered on the roads and thick clouds overhead that the sun broke through occasionally.  He didn’t even know how much time that walking circus tent of a man had stolen from him. He had studied himself intently in the mirror in the last inn, and as he cut his hair back to a reasonable length he had seen no grey, but he couldn’t tell. It could be anywhere from one year to ten years.  

     He cursed himself for not thinking to ask before the charade was up.  If he had missed his window, then he would have to wait another  _ year. _  His gut boiled with his own short-sightedness. 

     He needed to get out of this room.  He needed to get to his books and supplies.  And he needed to figure out the fucking date.

     He zoned back into the conversation when the goblin’s nails-on-flint voice warbled from the other side of the room, completely derailing his train of thought.

     “So...what do we do?” She asked.  She sounded at a loss. There was a soft hum, either from Fjord or Caleb.  Fjord mumbled something indistinct.

     “But we might not have  _ time, _ ” Nott insisted. “I mean- if we are still going through with this-”  
  
     “We are.” Beau said with such sureness that it sounded more like she was reading aloud.

     “Okay, then, but- do we know if we’ve got a deadline?” Silence, for a moment.  Then Nott sighed. “There has to be  _ something  _ we can do in the meantime.”

     “We’re pretty low on gold.  I dunno if we can go resupply.”  There was a quiet clink, and Caleb counting under his breath.  The Nonagon tried his best not to tear his hair out with the monotony of it all. 

     “It’s pretty crowded down there anyway. There’s some sort of thing going on tonight or tomorrow, isn’t there?” Fjord asked.   _ That  _ caught The Nonagon’s attention.  Maybe he wasn’t too late after all?

 

 

     The group continued to hem and haw for another twenty minutes.  By the end of it, he had gleaned no further information about what sort of thing might be happening later on.  He wanted to scream. After the chat had died down, he pretended to rouse. He immediately felt four pairs of eyes on him and heard the click of Nott’s crossbow.

     “Please, try to contain yourselves.” he grumbled, scratching his cheek.  He was wrong about one thing- there were only three pairs of eyes on him.  Beau was staring at her knees, scowling deeply. Her jaw tensed and released rhythmically.  “So, did you find a temple? Figure out how you plan to banish me from this mortal coil?”

     “We’re working on it,” Nott snapped.  He glanced over her head to Caleb, who was glaring daggers in his direction.

     “I take it you did not find the answers you wanted at the temple, then, if your caginess on the subject is anything to go by.”  The Nonagon ran his claws through his slightly damp hair. “I did offer to help you, you know.” Fjord scoffed, but The Nonagon watched him closely.  He saw the slight twitch in his hands, the tenseness in his shoulders. 

     “Why should we trust anything you say?” Nott demanded, baring her glass shard-like teeth.  Her crossbow bolt’s aim had not strayed from his heart for the entire conversation. “Give me  _ one  _ good reason.”

     “I did tell the truth about the Raven Queen.  You found  _ something,  _ even if you didn’t like what you found _. _ ” He raised an eyebrow.

     There was a pause. “Well, shit.”  She leaned in and stage-whispered to Caleb, “That’s a pretty good reason.”  He looked like he was about to reply when Beau sat bolt upright.

     “He’s in the Shadowfell.”  The group turned to stare at her as she got up off the bed, grabbing her staff.  “He’s in the Shadowfell!!”

     “What- what are you talking about?” Fjord asked, the crease between his brows deepening.  She whirled to face him, twisting her weapon between her hands. 

     “Okay, okay, so I read this book one time, right-”

     “You read?” Nott interjected.

     “Yes, I read, fuck off, Nott!”  She started to pace in a circle, making the Nonagon dizzy.  “I read this book back at the Cobalt Soul about the Raven Queen and her realm and whatever for class.  Monks gotta do stuff involving energy and the spirit, it was  _ all  _ we ever learned in coursework.  Souls like, pass through the Shadowfell on their way to wherever they’re goin’, right, and the Raven Queen looks after their threads because she inherited them.”  She took one hand away from her staff, gesturing aimlessly as she spoke. “So it makes sense that she can mess with ‘em, cause she ascended to the position of Goddess of the Moment of Death from the last guy that had that position.  Everybody’s threads are supposed to exist from the beginning of time to the end and so is Death, you know?” The lock of hair that never stayed in her bun bounced animatedly with her stride.

     “Except, like- she can’t touch Molly’s thread and she said it was new, yeah?”  Caleb nodded, bewildered. “And she said it wasn’t hers to give.” She turned to face them, pushing her hair out of her eyes to reveal the manic gleam there.  “If she can’t send him on, but also said she can’t give him back, that means-”

     “-he’s stuck there!” Nott finished.

     “Exactly! He’s just kinda, kinda in a waiting room for souls, because she can’t move him! She doesn’t have anywhere else to put him!”  She threw her arms out wide to emphasize her point. “Plus, plus, gods speak through dreams all the time, ‘cause they have a different, uh, what’s the word- When you’re in the planes, there are different levels of permeability, cause if there weren’t, then the gods would be stuck there and not be able to do magic when clerics and stuff called on them- Caleb, I think that really was him trying to get to us! We just gotta go get him!”  She sat on the floor in front of the bed, and then, seeming as though she remembered something, laughed. 

     “What’s so funny?” Fjord asked, thoroughly confused now.

     “No, no, it’s just- The only reason I paid attention in the class I learned that stuff  about souls in-” she snickered, tears appearing at the corners of her eyes. “The only reason was because my teacher was  _ super fuckin’ hot _ and I wanted to impress her!” The snickering became a full-on gasping belly laugh, tipping Beau onto her back.  

     “Thank the gods you’re a lesbian!” Nott beamed and sprung from her seat, dropping her crossbow on the bed.  She leapt onto Beau, who caught her effortlessly and wrestled her under her thick arm, grinding her knuckles into Nott’s head. Nott cackled, throwing her arms around Beau’s waist.  “You’re fantastic!” She managed to scramble out of the woman’s grip and hug her properly. Beau sat up with Nott in her lap, still laughing, and smushed her cheek into the girl’s head. 

     “Damn right I am!”

     They sat together for another moment, laughing and trying to catch their breath.  Beau stood, holding Nott under her arms like an overgrown cat.

     “We have to- We have to go get Yasha and Jester! We have to tell them!” Nott wriggled out of Beau’s arms again, grabbing her crossbow in one hand and Caleb’s sleeve in the other before Fjord stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, just barely catching Beau’s wrist before she got out of reach.

     “Hold your horses for just a  _ minute _ \- We can’t go bargin’ into the Raven Queen’s home turf demanding Molly’s soul or else.  How are we even gonna  _ get _ there, Beau?”  She turned to face him, mouth open to retaliate, until she closed it, slowly.  The excitement that had filled the air was snuffed out like a candle. Beau’s arm went slack in Fjord’s grip.

     “I- I mean-” She mumbled, “I don’t know off the top of my head, but once we get Jester and Yasha we can...we can figure  _ something  _ out!”  She yanked her hand away and crossed her arms tightly over her middle. Fjord let his hand drop into his lap.  The Nonagon let the tension bubble for a few moments before he delicately cleared his throat.

     “I may be able to help.”  As soon as the words left his lips, Nott’s crossbow was trained on him.  “Oh, for the love of- will you put that fucking thing  _ away?”  _  He glared at Caleb over her head. “Call her off!”

     “She is not a  _ dog.”  _ Caleb growled.  “She can do as she likes.”   He crossed his arms, rising to his feet.  The Nonagon was not impressed. “Well? Go on. Make your offer.”

     “Caleb, you’re not seriously-”

     “I want to hear what he has to say.”  Caleb monotoned. His voice had gone quiet and dangerous again, too soft not to be hiding something.  Beau groaned and thumped her staff on the ground. The Nonagon surveyed the room once more with an arched brow.

     “Are we done? Got all your tantrums out of the way?” He asked. “Good.” He got up from where he sat, his heels clicking ominously on the wood floor.  He paced a long line in front of them, much like a general briefing his troops before leading them into a hopeless battle.

     “Now, as I was saying.  I can get you to the Shadowfell.”  There was little outwards reaction- Nott lowered her bow a fraction of an inch, and Fjord searched him once, twice over.  “However, the ritual takes some preparation and works the best on a solstice, and I’ve no idea if we’re near one.”

     “We are.” Caleb informed him. “Continue.”  The Nonagon could barely contain his excitement- finally, things were working in his favour.

     “How soon? There are preparations to be made.”

     “Two days.”  Perfect. It was  _ too perfect.  _ He let his tail swish, relaying how pleased he was.  

     “Two days,” He echoed. “A bit of a pinch, but it will do.”

 

* * *

 

     The next hour was spent detailing the plan.  There was a network of caves outside Kamordah on the mountain side of the city, long treasured by the Order of the Ghostslayer.  Each faction of bloodhunter had their own brew of Hunter’s Bane, but the base ingredient for all of them was found in those caves, and those caves alone- the very stone that made up the inner sanctum.  A potion was distilled from the stone, and then other choice ingredients were added to fit each faction’s needs, along with the proper enchantments. However, the base component was the key. It could be used to allow a mortal body to pass more easily between states of being, and by that logic, and the research he had done, to pass more easily between planes.  Beau was, as she was wont to be, less than happy about the deal they had struck. 

     “This seems awfully convenient for you.  What are you even getting out of this?”

     “Because this is all very time sensitive.  Due to the way the planes interact with our own, it will be easiest to open the gate on the eve of the solstice.  We need to get there tonight, if we plan to brew the potion in time,” The Nonagon insisted.

     “And how exactly do you plan on opening a portal for us to go through in order to  _ get  _ to the Shadowfell in the first place?” Beau asked, staring right through him.  

     “Oh, that’s just the half of it. It’s my payment for getting you there in the first place. Can’t have you knowing and then running off to open the gate without me.”  The Nonagon said. Beau shot up, staff levelled right at his windpipe.

     “Your fucking  _ payment _ is that I don’t drop you right the fuck now,” she snarled.  He surveyed her boredly. 

     “You could do that.  But then you would lose this chance to go find your friend until midwinter, and who knows how long the Raven Queen will tolerate him?” He asked.  “Did your book about her tell you  _ that?”  _ Beau turned to Fjord, teeth gritted. 

     “I can knock him out in one, just lemme-”

     “If you really care for him so little for him as to let him rot in the Raven Queen’s clutches for all eternity-”

     “What do you know about  _ caring  _ for people? You’ve never cared about anyone in your goddamn life, you self-serving, arrogant-”

     “And just how would  _ you  _ know what I have cared abou _ - _ ”

     Just then, Yasha burst into the room, sword drawn, her hair detangled and coiled with care, murder written in every line of her body.

    “Beau, are you okay?  I heard yelling-” She stopped dead in her tracks when she took in the scene, Lucien with his claw in Beau’s face, Beau shaking with barely restrained fury, gripping her staff so hard it creaked.  Jester’s voice rang from the hallway behind Yasha, broad frame filling the doorway.

     “We  _ just  _ got our clothes washed, you  _ better  _ not struggle and get blood on them again,  _ Lucien,  _ or I’ll make your teeth into earrings!” As soon as her voice registered, Fjord quickly tucked the length of fabric and thread back into his bag.  Jester’s blue hands were visible intermittently as she hopped up to flip Lucien the bird. “Just you wait-”

     “I’m okay, Jes.” Beau stated, consciously relaxing her grip.

     “Oh, thank the gods.  You’re lucky! If you lay one hand on Beau-”

     “He wouldn’t,” Beau reassured her.  Yasha moved aside to let her in, and immediately Jester was cupping Beau’s square jaw in her pudgy hands, turning her face this way and that.  The Nonagon threw his hands up and sat back on the bed. 

     “Well!  I’m not explaining that again. You lot discuss amongst yourselves what you want to do, but make it quick.  There is not time to waste.”

     The sun sank ever lower in the painfully blue sky.

 

* * *

 

     After much discussion, the Nein came to a decision.  They would follow Lucien to the cave he spoke of and help him brew the potion to let them pass between the planes.

     “I still don’t like it,” Beau said, her hand going to fidget with her absent necklace.  She realised it was gone again and dropped her hand in a huff, shoving it into her pocket.”He won’t even tell us how he plans to get us to the Shadowfell, what if he just takes the potion and leaves? Then what?”

     “It’s better than nothing at all?” Jester offered. “I mean, I dunno about you guys, but I definitely don’t have, like, a Planeshift spell or anything like that. Caleb, do you?” Caleb shook his head.  “I promise everything will turn out alright, Beau, okay?” She stuck her pinky out towards her, rings sparkling in the early evening light. Beau kept her hand firmly in her pocket.

     “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jes.” She said softly, something hard and unreadable in her face as she turned away, striding to gather their things.  Jester’s face fell. Yasha’s hand found her way into Jester’s.

     “She’ll be alright,” Fjord muttered.  Jester let her head lean against Fjord’s bicep. “She is right, though. We gotta be careful with this.”

     “We make him drink the potion first,” Nott whispered.  “That way if he’s trying to poison us, joke’s on him!”

     “That is a good precaution to take.” Caleb snapped Frumpkin into existence again, draping the cat comfortably over his shoulders.  “We can take other ones as well, if it would ease her nerves.”

     Fjord snorted. “The only thing that’ll ease her nerves-”

     “- is getting our carnie back.” Beau finished, slinging her rucksack over her shoulder.  “I don’t like it, but it’s what we’ve got.” She strode through the group and set her foot on the bedframe where Lucien had rolled back over.

     “Hey asshole, let’s get this show on the road.” 

     Lucien sat up again, stretching luxuriously.  

     “Oh, it it that late already?” He yawned, glancing at the slightly purpling sky out the locked window.  “I hardly even realised.”

     “Weren’t you the one up our asses about going quickly?” she grumbled.  “Can’t believe we fuckin’ paid for a room for the night and we aren’t even gonna use it.  What a waste.” She stomped over to the door and opened it. “Well?”

     Lucien got up fairly quickly, for someone who was presumably just unconscious.  He got frustrated with Molly’s boots, which should have been fun to watch, but instead it just incensed Beau more.  How fucking  _ dare  _ he try to wear Molly’s gods-awful boots.

     Within a few minutes, they were out the door, Fjord returning the key to the innkeeper at the desk, along with a handful of silver to keep their wagon at the stable for a few days.  The bar below was just starting its supper service, and outside it was pleasantly cool, a soft breeze making the newly hung banners billow above the city streets. The green and gold caught the light beautifully.  If it weren’t for the urgency of the situation and the tension in everyone’s throats, it might have been a pleasant evening for a walk. 

     The crowd from earlier had thinned out some.  Now it was mostly merchants packing up and farmers trailing in from a long day’s work to the bars, people walking in groups of twos and threes.  Some held hands, some linked arms. Two women, one with a young child in her arms, nodded at Jester and Yasha, the child staring openly at Jester.  She grinned back, sticking her forked tongue out to make the baby laugh. The other woman lifted the baby’s hand to wave and Jester wiggled her fingers back.  Fjord felt his breath catch in his chest.

     “Oh- Jes, hold on a minute,” He said, quickening his pace to walk side by side with her.  She raised one small round brow.

     “Yes, Fjord?”

     “I, uh, I got you something this afternoon,” he said, digging in his pocket. He held out his hand, and in his palm rested a length of cheery pink ribbon, edged at either tail with little starbursts and flowers in shiny gold thread.  Jester’s eyes widened. “I noticed your other ribbon, uh- you were havin’ some trouble gettin’ the stains out, and on the way back from the bath-house this afternoon there was this merchant, and this was, uh- I saw it and thought of you?”  Jester plucked the strip from his hand, examining the embroidery and running the satin over her lips.

     “And- and I’m sorry for being sharp with you this afternoon,” he continued, his words more stilted and awkward than usual.  “Everybody was stressed out and I didn’t know what to do, and-” 

     Jester got up on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of Fjord’s mouth, delighting that she could feel where his tusks would be growing in.

     “I forgive you.  Put it on for me?” she asked.  It took Fjord a solid thirty seconds to tie off the bow while they walked.  Once it was secure, Jester swished her tail back and forth, admiring the sparkle the embroidery lent it.  Her eyes glittered much in the same way. Fjord swallowed hard, unable to take his eyes off her. 

     “Looks real nice on ya.” He said softly.  Yasha grinned at him over Jester’s head, from where she had walked ahead to give them the illusion of privacy.  Fjord flushed hotter and turned his eyes to the cobblestones. “Glad you like it.”

     When she took his hand, she swung it a bit as they walked.

 

* * *

 

     Lucien led them on a four hour trek from the gates of the city.  Beau stayed beside him the whole trip, watching his every move with sharp, distrustful eyes.  By the time they arrived, they were all sweaty and exhausted. However, through the exhaustion, something in Lucien seemed to keep him going, a manic gleam in his eye as they came into view of the mountain’s bases.  He led them to the entrance of a rather unimpressive dip in the rock and then, without warning, bit down on his arm, hard. He smeared the blood on the stone and stepped back, arms crossed, seeming like he was waiting for something. 

 

     A small rumble began to occur, the earth shifting.  A long, thin seam appeared in the ground in front of them, and the rumbling grew as a set of stairs leading down into the earth formed out of nothing.  After a full minute, the rumbling stopped, and Lucien gestured to the new entrance with a flourish and a grin.

 

     “Well? Ladies first.”

**Author's Note:**

> making my first fic on ao3 (or my first fic in literal years, for that matter) this sprawling, wild, multi-chapter au? a power move. ill try to update every other sunday, but i make no promises. comments feed the author!  
> \------  
> love and kisses to torie, aggie, vain, and the wm discord for kicking my ass into writing this, and extra love and kisses to em and harley for putting up with me yelling about losers from a dnd campaign they've never even listened to. mwah <3  
> \------  
> this fic now has a playlist on spotify!!!! https://open.spotify.com/user/fnp7uuzrofq762609yomy7qqo/playlist/1dbxyVx1ocAyNR1eJ5704O


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